UCSB   LIBRARY 


i  Tales  of  Our  Coast 


By 

S.  R.  Crockett 
Harold  Frederic 
Gilbert  Parker 
W.  Clark  Russell 


New  York 

International  Association  of  Newspapers  and  Authors 
1901 


Copyright,  1896, 
BY  DODD,  MKAD  AND  COMPANY. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE  SMUGGLERS  OF  THE  CLONE    .    .    .    *      13 
'THERE  is  SORROW  ON  THE  SEA'  ....      41 

THE  PATH  OF  MURTOGH   .......      81 

THE  ROLL-CALL  OF  THE  REEF  .,     ...     133 
'THAT  THERE  MASON'  ........     179 


THE  SMUGGLERS   OF  THE   CLONE 

BY 

S.  R.  CROCKETT 


THE 
SMUGGLERS   OF   THE  CLONE. 

'  RISE,  Robin,  rise  !  The  partans  are  on  the 
sands  ! ' 

The  crying  at  our  little  window  raised 
me  out  of  a  sound  sleep,  for  I  had  been  out 
seeing  the  Myreside  lasses  late  the  night 
before,  and  was  far  from  being  wake-rife  at 
two  by  the  clock  on  a  February  morning. 

It  was  the  first  time  the  summons  had 
come  to  me,  for  I  was  then  but  young. 
Hitherto  it  was  my  brother  John  who  had 
answered  the  raising  word  of  the  free-traders 
spoken  at  the  window.  But  now  John  had 
a  farm-steading  of  his  own,  thanks  to  Sir 
William  Maxwell  and  to  my  father's  siller 
that  had  paid  for  the  stock. 

So  with  all  speed  I  did  my  clothes  upon 

me,   with   much   eagerness   and    a    beating 

13 


TALES  OF  OUR  COAST 

heart,  —  as  who  would  not,  when,  for  the 
first  time,  he  has  the  privilege  of  man  ? 
As  I  went  out  to  the  barn  I  could  hear 
my  mother  (with  whom  I  was  ever  a  fa- 
vourite) praying  for  me. 

'  Save  the  laddie  —  save  the  laddie  ! '  she 
said  over  and  over. 

And  I  think  my  father  prayed  too;  but, 
as  I  went,  he  also  cried  to  me  counsels. 

'  Be  sure  you  keep  up  the  grappling  chains 
—  dinna  let  them  clatter  till  ye  hae  the  stuff 
weel  up  the  hill.  The  Lord  keep  ye !  Be  a 
guid  lad  an'  ride  honestly.  Gin  ye  see  Sir 
William,  keep  your  head  doon,  an'  gae  by 
withoot  lookin'.  He 's  a  magistrate,  ye  ken. 
But  he  '11  no'  see  you,  gin  ye  dinna  see  him. 
Leave  twa  ankers  a-piece  o'  brandy  an'  rum 
at  our  ain  dyke  back.  An'  abune  a',  the 
Lord  be  wi'  ye,  an'  bring  ye  safe  back  to  your 
sorrowing  parents ! ' 

So,  with  pride,  I  did  the  harness  graith 
upon  the  sonsy  back  of  Brown  Bess,  —  the 
pad  before  where  I  was  to  sit,  —  the  lingtow 


THE  SMUGGLERS  OF  THE   CLONE 

and  the  hooked  chains  behind.  I  had  a 
cutlass,  a  jockteleg  (or  smuggler's  sheaf- 
knife),  and  a  pair  of  brass-mounted  pistols 
ready  swung  in  my  leathern  belt.  Faith, 
but  I  wish  Bell  of  the  Mains  could  have  seen 
me  then,  ready  to  ride  forth  with  the  light- 
horsemen.  She  would  never  scorn  me  more 
for  a  lingle-backed  callant,  I  'se  warrant. 

'  Haste  ye,  Robin !  Heard  ye  no'  that  the 
partans  are  on  the  sands  ? ' 

It  was  Geordie  of  the  Clone  who  cried  to 
me.  He  meant  the  free-traders  from  the 
Isle,  rolling  the  barrels  ashore. 

*  I  am  e'en  as  ready  as  ye  are  yoursel' !  I 
gave  him  answer,  for  I  was  not  going  to  let 
him  boast  himself  prideful  all,  because  he  had 
ridden  out  with  them  once  or  twice  before. 
Besides,  his  horse  and  accoutrement  were 
not  one  half  so  good  as  mine.  For  my 
father  was  an  honest  and  well-considered 
man,  and  in  good  standing  with  the  laird 
and  the  minister,  so  that  he  could  afford  to 

do  things  handsomely. 

15 


TALES  OF  OUR  COAST 

We  made  haste  to  ride  along  the  heuchs, 
which  are  very  high,  steep,  and  rocky  at 
this  part  of  the  coast. 

And  at  every  loaning-end  we  heard  the 
clinking  of  the  smugglers  chains,  and  I 
thought  the  sound  a  livening  and  a  merry 
one. 

'  A  fair  guid-e'en  and  a  full  tide,  young 
Airyolan  ! '  cried  one  to  me  as  we  came  by 
Killantrae.  And  I  own  the  name  was  sweet 
to  my  ears.  For  it  was  the  custom  to  call  men 
by  the  names  of  their  farms,  and  Airyolan  was 
my  father's  name  by  rights.  But  mine  for  that 
night,  because  in  my  hands  was  the  honour 
of  the  house. 

Ere  we  got  down  to  the  Clone  we  could 
hear,  all  about  in  the  darkness,  athwart  and 
athwart,  the  clattering  of  chains,  the  stir  of 
many  horses,  and  the  voices  of  men. 

Black  Taggart  was  in  with  his  lugger, 
the  '  Sea  Pyet,'  and  such  a  cargo  as  the 
Clone  men  had  never  run,  —  so  ran  the  talk 

on  every  side.     There   was  not   a  sleeping 

16 


THE  SMUGGLERS   OF  THE  CLONE 

wife  nor  yet  a  man  left  indoors  in  all  the 
parish  of  Mochrum,  except  only  the  laird 
and  the  minister. 

By  the  time  that  we  got  down  by  the 
shore,  there  was  quite  a  company  of  the  Men 
of  the  Fells,  as  the  shore  men  called  us,  —  all 
dour,  swack,  determined  fellows. 

'  Here  come  the  hill  nowt ! '  said  one  of 
the  village  men,  as  he  caught  sight  of  us.  I 
knew  him  for  a  limber-tongued,  ill-livered 
loon  from  the  Port,  so  I  delivered  him  a 
blow  fair  and  solid  between  the  eyes,  and 
he  dropped  without  a  gurgle.  This  was  to 
learn  him  how  to  speak  to  innocent  harmless 
strangers. 

Then  there  was  a  turmoil  indeed  to  speak 
about,  for  all  the  men  of  the  laigh  shore 
crowded  round  us,  and  knives  were  drawn. 
But  I  cried,  *  Corwald,  Mochrum,  Chipper- 
more,  here  to  me  ! '  And  all  the  stout  lads 
came  about  me. 

Nevertheless,  it  looked  black  for  a  mo- 
ment, as  the  shore  men  waved  their  torches 

19 


TALES  OF   OUR  COAST 

in  our  faces,  and  yelled  fiercely  at  us  to  put 
us  down  by  fear. 

Then  a  tall  young  man  on  a  horse  rode 
straight  at  the  crowd  which  had  gathered 
about  the  loon  I  had  felled.  He  had  a  mask 
over  his  face  which  sometimes  slipped  awry. 
But,  in  spite  of  the  disguise,  he  seemed 
perfectly  well  known  to  all  there. 

'  What  have  we  here  ? '  he  asked,  in  a 
voice  of  questioning  that  had  also  the  power 
of  command  in  it. 

*  'T  is  these  Men  of  the  Fells  that  have 
stricken  down  Jock  Webster  of  the  Port, 
Maister  William  ! '  said  one  of  the  crowd. 

Then  I  knew  the  laird's  son,  and  did  my 
duty  to  him,  telling  him  of  my  provocation, 
and  how  I  had  only  given  the  rascal  strength 
of  arm. 

'  And  right  well  you  did,'  said  Maister 
William,  '  for  these  dogs  would  swatter  in 
the  good  brandy,  but  never  help  to  carry  it 
to  the  caves,  nor  bring  the  well-graithed 

horses    to  the   shore-side !     Carry   the   loon 

20 


THE   SMUGGLERS   OF  THE   CLONE 

away,  and  stap  him  into  a  heather  hole  till 
he  come  to.' 

So  that  was  all  the  comfort  they  got  for 
their  tale-telling. 

'  And  you,  young  Airyoian,'  said  Maister 
William, '  that  are  so  ready  with  your  strength 
of  arm,  —  there  is  even  a  job  that  you  may 
do.  Muckle  Jock,  the  Preventive  man,  rides 
to-night  from  Isle  of  Whithorn,  where  he 
has  been  warning  the  revenue  cutter.  Do 
you  meet  him  and  keep  him  from  doing 
himself  an  injury.' 

'  And  where  shall  I  meet  him,  Maister 
William  ? '  I  asked  of  the  young  laird. 

'  Oh,  somewhere  on  the  heuch-taps,'  said 
he,  carelessly ;  '  and  see,  swing  these  on  your 
horse  and  leave  them  at  Myrtoun  on  the 
by-going.' 

He  called  a  man  with  a  torch,  who 
came  and  stood  over  me,  while  I  laid  on 
Brown  Bess  a  pair  of  small  casks  of 
some  fine  liqueur,  of  which  more  than 
ordinary  care  was  to  be  taken,  and  also  a 

21 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

few  packages  of  soft  goods,  silks  and  laces 
as  I  deemed. 

1  Take  these  to  the  Loch  Yett,  and  ca* 
Sandy  Fergus  to  stow  them,  for  ye.  Syne 
do  your  work  with  the  Exciseman  as  he 
comes  hame.  Gar  him  bide  where  he  is 
till  the  sun  be  at  its  highest  to-morrow. 
And  a  double  share  o'  the  plunder  shall 
be  lyin'  in  the  hole  at  a  back  of  the  dyke 
at  Airyolan  when  ye  ride  hame  the  morn 
at  e'en.' 

So  I  bade  him  a  good-night,  and  rode  my 
ways  over  the  fields,  and  across  many  burns 
to  Myrtoun.  As  I  went  I  looked  back,  and 
there,  below  me,  was  a  strange  sight,  —  all 
the  little  harbour  of  the  Clone  lighted  up, 
a  hurrying  of  men  down  to  the  shore,  the 
flickering  of  torches,  and  the  lappering  of 
the  sea  making  a  stir  of  gallant  life  that  set 
the  blood  leaping  along  the  veins.  It  was, 
indeed,  I  thought,  worth  while  living  to  be 
a  free-trader.  Far  out,  I  could  see  the  dark 

spars  of  the  lugger  '  Sea  Pyet,'  and  hear  the 

22 


THE   SMUGGLERS   OF  THE   CLONE 

casks  and  ankers  dumping  into  the  boats 
alongside. 

Then  I  began  to  bethink  me  that  I  had  a 
more  desperate  ploy  than  any  of  them  that 
were  down  there,  for  they  were  many,  and 
I  was  but  one.  Moreover,  easily,  as  young 
Master  William  might  say,  '  Meet  Muckle 
Jock,  and  keep  him  till  the  morn  at  noon ! ' 
the  matter  was  not  so  easy  as  supping 
one's  porridge. 

Now,  I  had  never  seen  the  Exciseman, 
but  my  brother  had  played  at  the  cudgels 
with  Jock  before  this.  So  I  knew  more  of 
him  than  to  suppose  that  he  would  bide  for 
the  bidding  of  one  man  when  in  the  way 
of  his  duty. 

But  when  the  young  laird  went  away  he 
slipped  me  a  small,  heavy  packet. 

1  Half  for  you  and  half  for  the  gauger, 
gin  he  hears  reason,'  he  said. 

By  the  weight  and  the  jingle  I  judged  it 
to  be  yellow  Geordies,  the  best  thing  that  the 

wee,  wee  German  lairdie  ever  sent  to  Tory 

23 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

Mochrum.  And  not  too  plenty  there,  either ! 
Though  since  the  Clone  folk  did  so  well  with 
the  clean-run  smuggling  from  the  blessed 
Isle  of  Man,  it  is  true  that  there  are  more  of 
the  Geordies  than  there  used  to  be. 

So  I  rode  round  by  the  back  of  the  White 
Loch,  for  Sir  William  had  a  habit  of  daun- 
ering,  over  by  the  Airlour  and  Barsalloch, 
and  in  my  present  ride  I  had  no  desire  to 
meet  with  him. 

Yet,  as  fate  would  have  it,  I  was  not  to 
win  clear  that  night.  I  had  not  ridden  more 
than  half-way  round  the  loch  when  Brown 
Bess  went  floundering  into  a  moss-hole,  which 
are  indeed  more  plenty  than  paved  roads  in 
that  quarter.  And  what  with  the  weight  of 
the  pack,  and  her  struggling,  we  threatened 
to  go  down  altogether.  When  I  thought  of 
what  my  father  would  say,  if  I  went  home 
with  my  finger  in  my  mouth,  and  neither 
Brown  Bess  nor  yet  a  penny's-worth  to  be 
the  value  of  her,  I  was  fairly  a-sweat  with 

fear.     I  cried  aloud  for  help,  for  there  were 

24 


THE  SMUGGLERS   OF  THE   CLONE 

cot-houses  near  by.  And,  as  I  had  hoped, 
in  a  little  a  man  came  out  of  the  shadows 
of  the  willow  bushes. 

'  What  want  ye,  yochel  ? '  said  he,  in  a 
mightily  lofty  tone. 

*  I  '11  "yockel"  ye,  gin  I  had  time.  Pu'  on 
that  rope,'  I  said,  for  my  spirit  was  disturbed 
by  the  accident.  Also,  as  I  have  said,  I 

took  ill-talk  from  no  man. 

« 

So,  with  a  little  laugh,  the  man  laid  hold 
of  the  rope,  and  pulled  his  best,  while  I  took 
off  what  of  the  packages  I  could  reach,  ever 
keeping  my  own  feet  moving,  to  clear  the 
sticky  glaur  of  the  bog-hole  from  them. 

'Tak'  that  hook  out,  and  ease  doon  the 
cask,  man ! '  I  cried  to  him,  for  I  was  in 
desperation ;  '  I  '11  gie  ye  a  heartsome  gill, 
even  though  the  stuff  be  Sir  William's ! ' 

And  the  man  laughed  again,  being,  as  I 
judged,  well  enough  pleased.  For  all  that 
service  yet  was  I  not  pleased  to  be  called 
'yochel.'  But,  in  the  meantime,  I  saw  not 
how,  at  the  moment,  I  coulcT  begin  to  cuff 

25 


TALES  OF  OUR  COAST 

and  clout  one  that  was  helping  my  horse 
and  stuff  out  of  a  bog-hole.  Yet  I  resolved 
somehow  to  be  even  with  him,  for,  though 
a  peaceable  man,  I  never  could  abide  the 
calling  of  ill  names. 

'  Whither  gang  ye  ? '  said  he. 

1  To  the  Muckle  Hoose  o'  Myrtoun,'  said 
I,  c  and  gang  you  wi'  me,  my  man ;  and  gie 
me  a  hand  doon  wi'  the  stuff,  for  I  hae 
nae  stomach  for  mair  warsling  in  bog-holes. 
And  wha  kens  but  that  auld  thrawn  Turk, 
Sir  William,  may  happen  on  us  ? ' 

1  Ken  ye  Sir  William  Maxwell  ? '  said  the 
man. 

*  Na,'  said  I.     *  I  never  so  muckle  as  set 
e'en  on  the  auld  wretch.     But  I  had  sax  hard 
days'  wark  cutting  doon  bushes,  and  makin' 
a  road  for  his  daftlike  carriage  wi'  wheels, 
for  him  to  ride  in  to  Mochrum  Kirk' 

*  Saw  ye  him  never  there  ? '  said  the  man, 
as  I  strapped  the  packages  on  again. 

'  Na/  said  I,  '  my  faither  is  a  Cameraman, 

and  gangs  to  nae  Kirk  hereaboots.' 

26 


THE   SMUGGLERS   OF  THE   CLONE 

*  He  has  gi'en  his  son  a  bonny  upbringing, 
then  ! '  quoth  the  man. 

Now  this  made  me  mainly  angry,  for  I 
cannot  bide  that  folk  should  meddle  with 
my  folk.  Though  as  far  as  I  am  concerned 
myself  I  am  a  peaceable  man. 

1  Hear  ye,'  said  I,  '  I  ken  na  wha  ye  are 
that  speers  so  mony  questions.  Ye  may  be 
the  de'il  himseP,  or  ye  may  be  the  enemy  o' 
Mochrum,  the  blackavised  Commodore  frae 
Glasserton.  But,  I  can  warrant  ye  that 
ye  '11  no  mell  and  claw  unyeuked  with  Robin 
o'  Airyolan.  Hear  ye  that,  my  man,  and 
keep  a  civil  tongue  within  your  ill-lookin' 
cheek,  gin  ye  want  to  gang  hame  in  the 
morning  wi'  an  uncracked  croun ! ' 

The  man  said  no  more,  and  by  his  gait  I 
judged  him  to  be  some  serving  man.  For, 
as  far  as  the  light  served  me,  he  was 
not  so  well  put  on  as  myself.  Yet  there 
was  a  kind  of  neatness  about  the  creature 
that  showed  him  to  be  no  outdoor  man 

either. 

27 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

However,  he  accompanied  me  willingly 
enough  till  we  came  to  the  Muckle  House 
of  Myrtoun.  For  I  think  that  he  was  feared 
of  his  head  at  my  words.  And  indeed  it 
would  not  have  taken  the  kittling  of  a  flea 
to  have  garred  me  draw  a  staff  over  his 
crown.  For  there  is  nothing  that  angers  a 
Galloway  man  more  than  an  ignorant,  upset- 
ting town's  body,  putting  in  his  gab  when 
he  desires  to  live  peaceable. 

So,  when  we  came  to  the  back  entrance, 
I  said  to  him :  '  Hear  ye  to  this.  Ye  are 
to  make  no  noise,  my  mannie,  but  gie 
me  a  lift  doon  wi'  thae  barrels  cannily. 
For  that  dour  old  tod,  the  laird,  is  to 
ken  naething  aboot  this.  Only  Miss  Peggy 
and  Maister  William,  they  ken.  'Deed,  it 
was  young  William  himsel'  that  sent  me 
on  this  errand.' 

So  with  that  the  mannie  gave  a  kind  of 
laugh,  and  helped  me  down  with  the  ankers 
far  better  than  I  could  have  expected.  We 

rolled  them  into  a  shed  at  the  back  of  the 

28 


THE   SMUGGLERS   OF  THE   CLONE 

stables,  and  covered  them  up  snug  with  some 
straw  and  some  old  heather  thatching. 

'  Ay,  my  lad,'  says  I  to  him,  '  for  a'  your 
douce  speech  and  fair  words  I  can  see  that 
ye  hae  been  at  this  job  afore ! ' 

*  Well,  it  is  true,'  he  said,  '  that  I  hae 
rolled  a  barrel  or  two  in  my  time.' 

Then,  in  the  waft  of  an  eye  I  knew  who 
he  was.  I  set  him  down  for  Muckle  Jock, 
the  Excise  officer,  that  had  never  gone  to  the 
Glasserton  at  all,  but  had  been  lurking  there 
in  the  moss,  waiting  to  deceive  honest  men. 
I  knew  that  I  needed  to  be  wary  with  him, 
for  he  was,  as  I  had  heard,  a  sturdy  carl,  and 
had  won  the  last  throw  at  the  Stoneykirk 
wrestling.  But  all  the  men  of  the  Fellside 
have  an  excellent  opinion  of  themselves,  and 
I  thought  I  was  good  for  any  man  of  the  size 
of  this  one. 

So  said  I  to  him :  '  Noo,  chiel,  ye  ken 
we  are  no'  juist  carryin'  barrels  o'  spring 
water  at  this  time  o'  nicht  to  pleasure  King 

George.     Hearken  ye :  we  are  in  danger  of 

29 


TALES  OF  OUR  COAST 

being  laid  by  the  heels  in  the  jail  of  Wigton 
gin  the  black  lawyer  corbies  get  us.  Noo, 
there 's  a  Preventive  man  that  is  crawling 
and  spying  ower  by  on  the  heights  o' 
Physgill.  Ye  maun  e'en  come  wi'  me  an' 
help  to  keep  him  oot  o'  hairm's  way.  For 
it  wad  not  be  for  his  guid  that  he  should 
gang  doon  to  the  port  this  nicht ! ' 

The  man  that  I  took  to  be  the  gauger 
hummed  and  hawed  a  while,  till  I  had  enough 
of  his  talk  and  unstable  ways. 

'  No  back-and-forrit  ways  wi'  Robin,'  said 
I.  '  Will  ye  come  and  help  to  catch  the 
King's  officer,  or  will  ye  not  ? ' 

*  No'  a  foot  will  I  go/  says  he.     *  I  have 
been  a  King's  officer,  myself ! ' 

Whereupon  I  laid  a  pistol  to  his  ear,  for  I 
was  in  some  heat. 

*  Gin  you  war  King  Geordie  himsel',  aye, 
or  Cumberland  either,  ye  shall  come  wi'  me 
and  help  to  catch  the  gauger,'  said  I. 

For  I  bethought  me  that  it  would   be   a 

bonny  ploy,  and  one  long  to  be  talked  about 

30 


THE   SMUGGLERS   OF  THE   CLONE 

in  these  parts,  thus  to  lay  by  the  heels  the 
Exciseman  and  make  him  tramp  to  Glasserton 
to  kidnap  himself. 

The  man  with  the  bandy  legs  was  taking 
a  while  to  consider,  so  I  said  to  him :  '  She 
is  a  guid  pistol  and  new  primed ! ' 

1  I  '11  come  wi'  ye  ! '  said  he. 

So  I  set  him  first  on  the  road,  and  left 
my  horse  in  the  stables  of  Myrtoun.  It  was 
the  gloam  of  the  morning  when  we  got  to 
the  turn  of  the  path  by  which,  if  he  were  to 
come  at  all,  the  new  gauger  would  ride  from 
Glasserton.  And  lo !  as  if  we  had  set  a  tryst, 
there  he  was  coming  over  the  heathery  braes 
at  a  brisk  trot.  So  I  covered  him  with  my 
pistol,  and  took  his  horse  by  the  reins,  think- 
ing no  more  of  the  other  man  I  had  taken 
for  the  gauger  before. 

'  Dismount,  my  lad,'  I  said.  '  Ye  dinna 
ken  me,  but  I  ken  you.  Come  here,  my 
brisk  landlouper,  and  help  to  haud  him ! ' 

I   saw  the  stranger  who  had  come  with 

me  sneaking  off,  but  with  my  other  pistol  I 

33 


TALES   OF  OUR  COAST 

brought  him  to  a  stand.  So  together  we  got 
the  gauger  into  a  little  thicket  or  planting. 
And  here,  willing  or  unwilling,  we  kept  him 
all  day,  till  we  were  sure  that  the  stuff  would 
all  be  run,  and  the  long  trains  of  honest 
smugglers  on  good  horses  far  on  their  way 
to  the  towns  of  the  north. 

Then  very  conscientiously  I  counted  out 
the  half  of  the  tale  of  golden  guineas  Master 
William  had  given  me,  and  put  them  into 
the  pocket  of  the  gauger's  coat. 

1  Gin  ye  are  a  good,  still-tongued  kind  of 
cattle,  there  is  more  of  that  kind  of  yellow 
oats  where  these  came  from,'  said  I.  *  But  lie 
ye  here  snug  as  a  paitrick  for  an  hour  yet  by 
the  clock,  lest  even  yet  ye  should  come  to 
harm ! ' 

So  there  we  left  him,  not  very  sorely 
angered,  for  all  he  had  posed  as  so  efficient 
and  zealous  a  King's  officer. 

'  Now,'  said  I  to'  the  man  that  had 
helped  me,  '  I  promised  ye  half  o'  Maister 

William's  guineas,  that  he  bade  me  keep,  for 

34 


THE   SMUGGLERS   OF  THE   CLONE 

I  allow  that  it  micht  hae  been  a  different  job 
but  for  your  help.  And  here  they  are.  Ye 
shall  never  say  that  Robin  of  Airyolan  roguit 
ony  man,  —  even  a  feckless  toon's  birkie  wi1 
bandy  legs ! ' 

The  man  laughed  and  took  the  siller, 
saying,  '  Thank'ee ! '  with  an  arrogant  air  as 
if  he  handled  bags  of  them  every  day.  But, 
nevertheless,  he  took  them,  and  I  parted 
from  him,  wishing  him  well,  which  was  more 
than  he  did  to  me.  But  I  know  how  to  use 
civility  upon  occasion. 

When  I  reached  home  I  told  my  father, 
and  described  the  man  I  had  met.  But  he 
could  make  no  guess  at  him.  Nor  had  I  any 
myself  till  the  next  rent  day,  when  my  father, 
having  a  lame  leg  where  the  colt  had  kicked 
him,  sent  me  down  to  pay  the  owing.  The 
factor  I  knew  well,  but  I  had  my  money  in 
hand  and  little  I  cared  for  him.  But  what 
was  my  astonishment?  to  find,  sitting  at  the 
table  with  him,  the  very  same  man  who  had 

helped   me   to   lay   the    Exciseman   by   the 

35 


TALES   OF  OUR  COAST 

heels.  But  now,  I  thought,  there  was  a 
strangely  different  air  about  him. 

And  what  astonished  me  more,  it  was 
this  man,  and  not  the  factor  who  spoke  first 
to  me. 

'  Aye,  young  Robin  of  Airyolan,  and  are 
you  here?  Ye  are  a  chiel  with  birr  and 
smeddum !  There  are  the  bones  of  a  man 
in  ye !  Hae  ye  settled  with  the  gauger  for 
shackling  him  by  the  hill  of  Physgill  ? ' 

Now,  as  I  have  said,  I  thole  snash  from 
no  man,  and  I  gave  him  the  word  back 
sharply. 

*  Hae  ye  settled  wi'  him  yoursel',  sir  ? 
For  it  was  you  that  tied  the  tow  rope ! ' 

My  adversary  laughed,  and  looked  not  at 
all  ill-pleased. 

He  pointed  to  the  five  gold  Georges  on 
the  tables. 

'  Hark  ye,  Robin  of  Airyolan,  these  are 
the  five  guineas  ye  gied  to  me  like  an  honest 
man.  I  '11  forgie  ye  for  layin'  the  pistol  to  my 

lug,  for  after  all  ye  are  some  credit  to  the  land 

36 


THE   SMUGGLERS   OF  THE  CLONE 

that  fed  ye.  Gin  ye  promise  to  wed  a  decent 
lass,  I  '11  e'en  gie  ye  a  farm  o'  your  ain.  And 
as  sure  as  my  name  is  Sir  William  Maxwell, 
ye  shall  sit  your  lifetime  rent  free,  for  the 
de'il's  errand  that  ye  took  me  on  the  nicht 
of  the  brandy-running  at  the  Clone.' 

I  could  have  sunken  through  the  floor 
when  I  heard  that  it  was  Sir  William  himself, 
—  whom,  because  he  had  so  recently  returned 
from  foreign  parts  after  a  sojourn  of  many 
years,  I  had  never  before  seen. 

Then  both  the  factor  and  the  laird  laughed 
heartily  at  my  discomfiture. 

*  Ken  ye  o'  ony  lass  that  wad  tak'  up  wi' 
ye,  Robin?'  said  Sir  William. 

'  Half  a  dozen  o'  them,  my  lord,'  said  I. 
*  Lassies  are  neither  ill  to  seek  nor  hard 
to  find  when  Robin  of  Airyolan  gangs  a- 
coortin' ! ' 

*  Losh  preserve  us ! '  cried  the  laird,  slap- 
ping his  thigh,  'but  I  mysel'  never  sallied 
forth  to  woo  a  lass  so  blithely  confident!* 

I    said    nothing,    but    dusted    my   knee- 
37 


TALES  OF   OUR  COAST 

breeks.      For  the  laird  was  no  very  good 
looking  man,  being  grey  as  a  badger. 

1  An'  mind  ye  maun  see  to  it  that  the 
bairns  are  a'  loons,  and  as  staunch  and  stark 
as  yoursel' ! '  said  the  factor. 

'  A  man  can  but  do  his  best,'  answered  I, 
very  modestly  as  I  thought.  For  I  never 
can  tell  why  it  is  that  the  folk  will  always 
say  that  I  have  a  good  opinion  of  myself. 
But  neither,  on  the  other  hand,  can  I  tell 
why  I  should  not. 


'  THERE  IS   SORROW  ON  THE  SEA 


BY 

GILBERT   PARKER 


THERE   IS  SORROW  ON 
THE  SEA1 


YORK  FACTORY,  HUDSON'S  BAY. 

2yd  September,  1747. 

MY  DEAR  COUSIN  FANNY,  —  It  was  a  year  last 
April  Fool's  Day,  I  left  you  on  the  sands  there 
at  Mablethorpe,  no  more  than  a  stone's  throw 
from  the  Book-in-Hand,  swearing  that  you 
should  never  see  or  hear  from  me  again.  You 
remember  how  we  saw  the  coastguards  flash 
their  lights  here  and  there,  as  they  searched 
the  sands  for  me  ?  how  one  came  bundling 
down  the  bank,  calling,  '  Who  goes  there  ? ' 
and  when  I  said, '  A  friend,'  he  stumbled,  and 
his  light  fell  to  the  sands  and  went  out,  and 
in  the  darkness  you  and  I  stole  away :  you 
to  your  home,  with  a  whispering,  '  God-bless- 


TALES   OF  OUR  COAST 

you,  Cousin  Dick,'  over  your  shoulder,  and 
I  with  a  bit  of  a  laugh  that,  maybe,  cut  you 
to  the  heart,  and  that  split  in  a  sob  in  my 
own  throat,  —  though  you  did  n't  hear  that. 

'Twas  a  bad  night's  work  that,  Cousin 
Fanny,  and  maybe  I  wish  it  undone;  and 
maybe  I  don't ;  but  a  devil  gets  into  the  heart 
of  a  man  when  he  has  to  fly  from  the  lass 
he  loved,  while  the  friends  of  his  youth  go 
hunting  him  with  muskets,  and  he  has  to 
steal  out  of  the  back-door  of  his  own  country 
and  shelter  himself,  like  a  cold  sparrow,  up 
in  the  eaves  of  the  world. 

Ay,  lass,  that's  how  I  left  the  fens  of 
Lincolnshire  a  year  last  April  Fool's  Day. 
There  was  n't  a  dyke  from  Lincoln  town  to 
Mablethorpe  that  I  hadn't  crossed  with  a 
running  jump ;  and  there  was  n't  a  break  in 
the  shore,  or  a  sink-hole  in  the  sand,  or  a 
clump  of  rushes,  or  a  samphire  bed,  from 
Skegness  to  Theddlethorpe,  that  I  didn't 
know  like  every  line  of  your  face.  And 

when  I  was  a  slip  of  a  lad  —  ay,  and  later,  too, 

42 


c SORROW  ON  THE   SEA' 

—  how  you  and  I  used  to  snuggle  into  little 
nooks  of  the  sand-hills,  maybe  just  beneath 
the  coastguard's  hut,  and  watch  the  tide 
come  swilling  in,  —  daisies  you  used  to  call 
the  breaking  surf,  Cousin  Fanny !  And  that 
was  like  you,  always  with  a  fancy  about 
everything  you  saw.  And  when  the  ships,  the 
fishing-smacks  with  their  red  sails,  and  the 
tall-masted  brigs,  went  by,  taking  the  white 
foam  on  their  canvas,  you  used  to  wish  that 
you  might  sail  away  to  the  lands  you  *d  heard 
tell  of  from  old  skippers  that  gathered  round 
my  uncle's  fire  in  the  Book-in-Hand.  Ay,  a 
grand  thing  I  thought  it  would  be,  too,  to  go 
riding  round  the  world  on  a  well-washed 
deck,  with  plenty  of  food  and  grog,  and 
maybe,  by-and-by,  to  be  first  mate,  and  lord 
it  from  fo'castle  bunk  to  stern-rail! 

You  did  not  know,  did  you,  who  was  the 
coastguardsman  that  stumbled  as  he  came 
on  us  that  night?  It  looked  a  stupid  thing 
to  do  that,  and  let  the  lantern  fall.  But,  lass, 

*t  was  done  o'  purpose.  That  was  the  one  man 

45 


TALES   OF  OUR   COAST 

in  all  the  parish  that  would  ha'  risked  his 
neck  to  let  me  free.  'T  was  Lancy  Doane, 
who  's  give  me  as  many  beatings  in  his  time 
as  I  him.  We  were  always  getting  foul  one 
o'  t'other  since  I  was  big  enough  to  shy  a  bit 
of  turf  at  him  across  a  dyke,  and  there  i?  n't  a 
spot  on  's  body  that  I  have  n't  hit,  nor  one 
on  mine  that  he  has  n't  mauled.  I  Ve  sat  en 
his  head,  and  he 's  had  his  knee  in  my  stom- 
ach till  I  squealed,  and  we  never  could  meet 
without  back-talking  and  rasping  'gainst  the 
grain.  The  night  before  he  joined  the  coast- 
guardsmen,  he  was  down  at  the  Book-in 
Hand,  and  'twas  little  like  that  I'd  let  the 
good  chance  pass,  —  I  might  never  have 
another;  for  Gover'ment  folk  will  not  easy 
work  a  quarrel  on  their  own  account.  I 
mind  him  sittin'  there  on  the  settle,  his  shins 
against  the  fire,  a  long  pipe  going,  and  Casey 
of  the  *  Lazy  Beetle/  and  Jobbin  the  mate  of 
the  *  Dodger,'  and  Little  Faddo,  who  had  the 
fat  Dutch  wife  down  by  the  Ship  Inn,  and 

Whiggle   the   preaching   blacksmith.      And 

46. 


'SORROW  ON  THE   SEA' 

you  were  standin'  with  your  back  to  the 
shinin'  pewters,  and  the  great  jug  of  ale 
with  the  white  napkin  behind  you ;  the  light 
o'  the  fire  wavin'  or*  your  face,  and  your  look 
lost  in  the  deep  hollow  o'  the  chimney.  I 
think  of  you  most  as  you  were  that  minute, 
Cousin  Fanny,  when  I  come  in.  I  tell  you 
straight  and  fair,  that  was  the  prettiest 
picture  I  ever  saw  ;  and  I  've  seen  some  rare 
fine  things  in  my  travels.  'T  was  as  if  the 
thing  had  been  set  by  some  one  just  to  show 
you  off  to  your  best.  Here  you  were,  a  slip 
of  a  lass,  straight  as  a  bulrush,  and  your  head 
hangin'  proud  on  your  shoulders ;  yet  modest 
too,  as  you  can  see  off  here  in  the  North  the 
top  of  the  golden-rod  flower  swing  on  its 
stem.  You  were  slim  as  slim,  and  yet  there 
was  n't  a  corner  on  you ;  so  soft  and  full  and 
firm  you  were,  like  the  breast  of  a  quail ; 
and  I  mind  me  how  the  shine  of  your  cheeks 
was  like  the  glimmer  of  an  apple  after  you  Ve 
rubbed  it  with  a  bit  of  cloth.  Well,  there 

you   stood   in   some  sort   of   smooth,  plain, 

47 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

clingin'  gown,  a  little  bit  loose  and  tumblin' 
at  the  throat,  and  your  pretty  foot  with  a 
brown  slipper  pushed  out,  just  savin'  you 
from  bein'  prim.  That 's  why  the  men  liked 
you,  —  you  did  n't  carry  a  sermon  in  your 
waist-ribbon,  and  the  Lord's  Day  in  the  lift 
o'  your  chin ;  but  you  had  a  smile  to  give 
when  'twas  the  right  time  for  it,  and  men 
never  said  things  vj\t\\you  there  that  they'd 
have  said  before  many  another  maid. 

'T  was  a  thing  I  've  thought  on  off  here, 
where  I  've  little  to  do  but  think,  how  a  lass 
like  you  could  put  a  finger  on  the  lip  of  such 
rough  tykes  as  Faddo,  Jobbin,  and  the  rest, 
keepin'  their  rude  words  under  flap  and 
button.  Do  you  mind  how,  when  I  passed 
you  comin'  in,  I  laid  my  hand  on  yours  as  it 
rested  on  the  dresser  ?  That  hand  of  yours 
was  n't  a  tiny  bit  of  a  thing,  and  the  fingers 
were  n't  all  taperin'  like  a  simperin'  miss  from 
town,  worked  down  in  the  mill  of  quality  and 
got  from  graftin'  and  graftin',  like  one  of 

them  roses  from  the  flower-house  at  Mable- 

48 


'SORROW   ON   THE   SEA' 

thorpe  Hall,  —  not  fit  to  stand  by  one  o'  them 
that  grew  strong  and  sweet  with  no  fancy 
colour,  in  the  garden  o'  the  Book-in-Hand. 
Yours  was  a  hand  that  talked  as  much  as 
your  lips  or  face,  as  honest  and  white ;  and 
the  palm  all  pink,  and  strong  as  strong  could 
be,  and  warmin'  every  thread  in  a  man's 
body  when  he  touched  it.  Well,  I  touched 
your  hand  then,  and  you  looked  at  me  and 
nodded,  and  went  musin'  into  the  fire  again, 
not  seemin'  to  hear  our  gabble. 

But,  you  remember  —  don't  you  ?  —  how 
Jobbin  took  to  chaffin'  of  Lancy  Doane,  and 
how  Faddo's  tongue  got  sharper  as  the  time 
got  on,  and  many  a  nasty  word  was  said  of 
coastguards  and  excisemen,  and  all  that  had 
to  do  with  law  and  gover'ment  Cuts  there 
were  at  some  of  Lancy's  wild  doings  in  the 
past,  and  now  and  then  they  'd  turn  to  me, 
saying  what  they  thought  would  set  me 
girdin'  Lancy  too.  But  I  had  my  own 
quarrel,  and  I  was  n't  to  be  baited  by  such 

numskulls.     And  Lancy — that  was  a  thing 
4  49 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

I  could  n't  understand  —  he  did  no  more  than 
shrug  his  shoulder  and  call  for  more  ale,  and 
wish  them  all  good  health  and  a  hundred  a 
year.  I  never  thought  he  could  ha'  been  so 
patient-like.  But  there  was  a  kind  of  little 
smile,  too,  on  his  face,  showin'  he  did  some 
thinkin' ;  and  I  guessed  he  was  bidin'  his 
time. 

I  was  n't  as  sharp  as  I  might  ha'  been,  or 
I  'd  ha'  seen  what  he  was  waitin'  for,  with 
that  quiet  provokin'  smile  on  his  face,  and 
his  eyes  smoulderin'  like.  I  don't  know  to 
this  day  whether  you  wanted  to  leave  the 
room  when  you  did,  though  't  was  about  half 
after  ten  o'clock,  later  than  I  ever  saw  you 
there  before.  But  when  my  uncle  came  in 
from  Louth,  and  gave  you  a  touch  on  the 
shoulder,  and  said :  '  To  bed  wi'  you,  my 
lass,'  you  waited  for  a  minute  longer,  glancin' 
round  on  all  of  us,  at  last  lookin'  steady  at 
Lancy ;  and  he  got  up  from  his  chair,  and 
took  off  his  hat  to  you  with  a  way  he  had. 
You  did  n't  stay  a  second  after  that,  but  went 

50 


•SORROW  ON  THE   SEA' 

away  straight,  say  in'  good-night  to  all  of  us; 
but  Lancy  was  the  only  one  on  his  feet. 

Just  as  soon  as  the  door  was  shut  behind 
you,  Lancy  turned  round  to  the  fire,  and 
pushed  the  log  with  his  feet  in  a  way  a  man 
does  when  he 's  thinkin'  a  bit.  And  Faddo 
gave  a  nasty  laugh,  and  said:  — 

'  Theer  's  a  dainty  sitovation.  Theer  's 
Mr.  Thomas  Doane,  outlaw  and  smuggler, 
and  theer's  Mr.  Lancy  Doane,  coastguards- 
man.  Now,  if  them  two  should  'appen  to 
meet  on  Lincolnshire  coast,  Lord,  theer  's  a 
sitovation  for  ye,  —  Lord,  theer 's  a  cud  to 
chew !  Ere  's  one  gentleman  wants  to  try  'is 
'"and  at  'elpin'  Prince  Charlie,  and  when  'is 
'elp  does  n't  amount  to  anythink,  what  does 
the  King  on  'is  throne  say  ?  He  says,  "  As 
for  Thomas  Doane,  Esquire,  aw  've  doone 
wi'  'im  !  "  And  theer 's  another  gentleman, 
Mr.  Lancy  Doane,  Esquire.  He  turns  pious, 
and  says,  "  Aw  'm  goin'  for  a  coastguards- 
man  ! "  What  does  the  King  on  his  throne 
say  ?  'E  says,  "  Theer 's  the  man  for  me  !  " 


TALES   OF   OUR  COAST 

But  aw  says,  "  Aw  've  doone,  aw  Ve  doone 
wid  Mr.  Lancy  Doane,  Esquire,  and  be 
damned  to  'im."  He!  he!  Theer's  a 
fancy  sitovation  for  ye.  Mr.  Thomas  Doane, 
Esquire,  smuggler  and  outlaw,  an'  Mr.  Lancy 
Doane,  Esquire,  coastguardsman.  Aw've 
doone.  Ho !  ho !  That  gits  into  my  crop.' 

I  tell  you  these  things,  Cousin  Fanny, 
because  I  'm  doubtin'  if  you  ever  heard  them, 
or  knew  exactly  how  things  stood  that  night. 
I  never  was  a  friend  of  Lancy  Doane,  you 
understand,  but  it 's  only  fair  that  the  truth 
be  told  about  that  quarrel,  for  like  as  not  he 
would  n't  speak  himself,  and  your  father  was 
moving  in  and  out ;  and,  I  take  my  oath,  I 
would  n't  believe  Faddo  and  the  others  if 
they  were  to  swear  on  the  Bible.  Not  that 
they  did  n't  know  the  truth  when  they  saw  it, 
but  they  did  love  just  to  let  their  fancy  run. 
I  'm  livin'  over  all  the  things  that  happened 
that  night,  —  livin'  them  over  to-day,  when 
everything 's  so  quiet  about  me  here,  so  lone- 
some. I  wanted  to  go  over  it  all,  bit  by  bit, 

52 


'SORROW  ON  THE   SEA* 

and  work  it  out  in  my  head  just  as  you  and 
I  used  to  do  the  puzzle  games  we  played  in 
the  sands.  And  maybe,  when  you  're  a  long 
way  off  from  things  you  once  lived,  you  can 
see  them  and  understand  them  better.  Out 
here,  where  it 's  so  lonely,  and  yet  so  good  a 
place  to  live  in,  I  seem  to  get  the  hang  o' 
the  world  better,  and  why  some  things  are, 
and  other  things  are  n't ;  and  I  thought  it 
would  pull  at  my  heart  to  sit  down  and  write 
you  a  long  letter,  goin'  over  the  whole 
business  again ;  but  it  does  n't.  I  suppose  I 
feel  as  a  judge  does  when  he  goes  over  a  lot 
of  evidence,  and  sums  it  all  up  for  the  jury, 
I  don't  seem  prejudiced  one  way  or  another. 
But  I  'm  not  sure  that  I  Ve  got  all  the 
evidence  to  make  me  ken  everything;  and 
that 's  what  made  me  bitter  wild  the  last  time 
that  I  saw  you.  Maybe  you  had  n't  anything 
to  tell  me,  and  maybe  you  had,  and  maybe, 
if  you  ever  write  to  me  out  here,  you  '11  tell 
me  if  there  's  anything  I  don't  know  about 

them  days. 

53 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

Well,  I  '11  go  back  now  to  what  happened 
when  Faddo  was  speakin'  at  my  uncle's  bar. 
Lancy  Doane  was  standin'  behind  the  settle, 
leanin'  his  arms  on  it,  and  smokin'  his  pipe 
quiet.  He  waited  patient  till  Faddo  had 
done,  then  he  comes  round  the  settle,  puts 
his  pipe  up  in  the  rack  between  the  rafters, 
and  steps  in  front  of  Faddo.  If  ever  the 
devil  was  in  a  man's  face,  it  looked  out  of 
Lancy  Doane's  that  minute.  Faddo  had 
touched  him  on  the  raw  when  he  fetched  out 
that  about  Tom  Doane.  All  of  a  sudden 
Lancy  swings,  and  looks  at  the  clock. 

'  It 's  half-past  ten,  Jim  Faddo,'  he  said, 
4  and  aw  Ve  got  an  hour  an'  a  half  to  deal  wi' 
you  as  a  Lincolnshire  lad.  At  twelve  o'clock 
aw  'm  the  Gover'ment's,  but  till  then  aw  'm 
Lancy  Doane,  free  to  strike  or  free  to  let 
alone ;  to  swallow  dirt  or  throw  it ;  to  take  a 
lie  or  give  it.  And  now  list  to  me  ;  aw  'm 
not  goin'  to  eat  dirt,  and  aw  'm  goin1  to  give 
you  the  lie,  and  aw'm  goin'  to  break  your 

neck,  if  I  swing  for  it  to-morrow,  Jim  Faddo. 

54 


'SORROW  ON  THE  SEA' 

And  here's  another  thing  aw '11  tell  you. 
When  the  clock  strikes  twelve,  on  the  best 
horse  in  the  country  aw '11  ride  to  Theddfe- 
thorpe,  straight  for  the  well  that 's  dug  you 
know  where,  to  find  your  smuggled  stuff, 
and  to  run  the  irons  round  your  wrists. 
Aw  'm  dealin'  fair  wi'  you  that  never  dealt 
fair  by  no  man.  You  never  had  an  open 
hand  nor  soft  heart ;  and  because  you  've 
made  money,  not  out  o'  smugglin'  alone,  but 
out  o'  poor  devils  of  smugglers  that  did  n't 
know  rightly  to  be  rogues,  you  think  to  fling 
your  dirt  where  you  choose.  But  aw  '11  have 
ye  to-night  as  a  man,  and  aw  '11  have  ye 
to-night  as  a  King's  officer,  or  aw '11  go 
damned  to  hell.' 

Then  he  steps  back  a  bit  very  shiny  in 
the  face,  and  his  eyes  like  torchlights,  but 
cool  and  steady.  *  Come  on  now/  he  says, 
'Jim  Faddo,  away  from  the  Book-in-Hand, 
and  down  to  the  beach  under  the  sand-hills, 
and  we  '11  see  man  for  man  — though,  come  to 

think  of  it,  y'  are  no  man/  he  said  — '  if  ye  '11 

55 


TALES  OF  OUR  COAST 

have  the  right  to  say  when  aw  'm  a  King's 
officer  that  you  could  fling  foul  words  in  the 
face  of  Lancy  Doane.  And  a  word  more,' 
he  says ;  '  aw  would  n't  trust  ye  if  an  Angel  o' 
Heaven  swore  for  ye.  Take  the  knife  from 
the  belt  behind  your  back  there,  and  throw 
it  on  the  table,  for  you  would  n't  bide  by  no 
fair  rules  o'  fightin'.  Throw  the  knife  on 
the  table,*  he  says,  comin'  a  step  forward. 

Faddo  got  on  to  his  feet.  He  was  bigger 
built  than  Lancy,  and  a  bit  taller,  and  we  all 
knew  he  was  devilish  strong  in  his  arms. 
There  was  a  look  in  his  face  I  could  n't 
understand.  One  minute  I  thought  it  was 
fear,  and  another  I  thought  it  was  daze ;  and 
maybe  it  was  both.  But  all  on  a  sudden 
something  horrible  cunnin'  come  into  it,  and 
ugly  too. 

'  Go  to  the  well,  then,  since  ye  Ve  found 
out  all  about  it,'  he  says,  *  but  aw  Ve  an  hour 
and  a  half  start  o'  ye,  Lancy  Doane.' 

'  Ye  Ve  less  than  that,'  says   Lancy  back 

to  him,  *  if  ye  go  with  me  to  the  sands  first.' 

56 


' SORROW   ON   THE   SEA' 

At  that  my  uncle  stepped  in  to  say  a  word 
for  peace-makin',  but  Lancy  would  have 
none  of  it.  '  Take  the  knife  and  throw  it  on 
the  table,'  he  said  to  Faddo  once  more,  and 
Faddo  took  it  out  and  threw  it  down. 

'  Come  on,  then,'  Faddo  says,  with  a 
sneerin'  laugh  ;  '  we  '11  see  by  daybreak  who 
has  the  best  o'  this  night's  work,'  and  he 
steps  towards  the  door. 

4  Wait  a  minute,'  says  Lancy,  gettin'  in 
front  of  him.  *  Now  take  the  knife  from 
your  boot.  Take  it,'  he  says  again,  *  or  aw 
will.  That 's  like  a  man,  to  go  to  a  fist-fight 
wi'  knives.  Take  it,'  he  said ;  '  aw  '11  gi'  ye 
till  aw  count  four,  and  if  ye  doan't  take  it, 
aw  '11  take  it  meself.  One  ! '  he  says  steady 
and  soft.  '  Two  ! '  Faddo  never  moved. 
*  Three  I '  The  silence  made  me  sick,  and 
the  clock  ticked  like  hammers.  s  Four ! '  he 
said,  and  then  he  sprang  for  the  boot,  but 
Faddo's  hand  went  down  like  lightnin',  too. 
I  could  n't  tell  exactly  how  they  clinched,  but 
once  or  twice  I  saw  the  light  flash  on  the 

57 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

steel.  Then  they  came  down  together, 
Faddo  under,  and  when  I  looked  again 
Faddo  was  lying  eyes  starin'  wide,  and  mouth 
all  white  with  fear,  for  Lancy  was  holding  the 
knife-point  at  his  throat.  '  Stir  an  inch,'  says 
Lancy,  '  and  aw  '11  pin  ye  to  the  lid  o'  hell.' 

And  three  minutes  by  the  clock  he  knelt 
there  on  Faddo's  chest,  the  knife-point 
touching  the  bone  in  's  throat.  Not  one  of 
us  stirred,  but  just  stood  lookin',  and  my 
own  heart  beat  so  hard  it  hurt  me,  and  my 
uncle  steadyin'  himself  against  the  dresser. 
At  last  Lancy  threw  the  knife  away  into  the 
fire. 

*  Coward  ! '  he  said.  *  A  man  would  ha' 
taken  the  knife.  Did  you  think  aw  was 
goin'  to  gie  my  neck  to  the  noose  just  to  put 
your  knife  to  proper  use  ?  But  don't  stir  till 
aw  gie  you  the  word,  or  aw '11  choke  the 
breath  o'  life  out  o'  ye.' 

At  that  Faddo  sprung  to  clinch  Lancy's 
arms,  but  Lancy's  fingers  caught  him  in  the 

throat,  and  I  thought  surely  Faddo  was  gone, 

58 


•SORROW   ON  THE   SEA' 

for  his  tongue  stood  out  a  finger-length,  and 
he  was  black  in  the  face. 

'  For  God's  sake,  Lancy,'  said  my  uncle, 
steppin'  forward,  '  let  him  go.' 

At  that  Lancy  said,  '  He  's  right  enough. 
It 's  not  the  first  time  aw  Ve  choked  a  coward. 
Throw  cold  water  on  him  and  gi'  'im 
brandy.' 

Sure  enough,  he  was  n't  dead.  Lancy 
stood  there  watchin'  us  while  we  fetched 
Faddo  back,  and  I  tell  you,  that  was  a  nar- 
row squeak  for  him.  When  he  got  his 
senses  again,  and  was  sittin'  there  lookin'  as 
if  he  *d  been  hung  and  brought  back  to  life, 
Lancy  says  to  him  :  '  There,  Jim  Faddo, 
aw  Ve  done  wi'  you  as  a  man,  and  at  twelve 
o'clock  aw  '11  begin  wi'  ye  as  King's  officer.' 
And  at  that,  with  a  good-night  to  my  uncle 
and  all  of  us,  he  turns  on  his  heels  and  leaves 
the  Book-in-Hand. 

I  tell  you,  Cousin  Fanny,  though  I  'd  been 
ripe  for  quarrel  wi'  Lancy  Doane  myself  that 

night,  I  could  ha'  took  his  hand  like  a  brother, 

59 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

for  I  never  saw  a  man  deal  fairer  wi!  a 
scoundrel  than  he  did  wi'  Jim  Faddo.  You 
see  it  was  n't  what  Faddo  said  about  himself 
that  made  Lancy  wild,  but  that  about  his 
brother  Tom ;  and  a  man  does  n't  like  his 
brother  spoken  ill  of  by  dirt  like  Faddo,  be 
it  true  or  false.  And  of  Lancy 's  brother 
I  'm  goin'  to  write  further  on  in  this  letter, 
for  I  doubt  that  you  know  all  I  know 
about  him,  and  the  rest  of  what  happened 
that  night  and  afterwards. 

•         ••••••• 

DEAR  COUSIN  FANNY,  —  I  canna  write  all 
I  set  out  to,  for  word  come  to  me,  just  as  I 
wrote  the  last  sentence  above,  that  the  ship 
was  to  leave  port  three  days  sooner  than  was 
fixed  for  when  I  began.  I  have  been  rare 
and  busy  since  then,  and  I  have  no  time  to 
write  more.  And  so  't  will  be  another  year 
before  you  get  a  word  from  me ;  but  I  hope 
that  when  this  letter  comes  you  '11  write  one 
back  to  me  by  the  ship  that  sails  next  summer 

from  London.     The  summer 's  short  and  the 

60 


'SORROW   ON   THE   SEA' 

winter 's  long  here,  Cousin  Fanny,  and  there  Js 
more  snow  than  grass ;  and  there 's  more  flow- 
ers in  a  week  in  Mablethorpe  than  in  a  whole 
year  here.  But,  lass,  the  sun  shines  always, 
and  my  heart  keeps  warm  in  thinkin'  of  you, 
and  I  ask  you  to  forgive  me  for  any  harsh 
word  I  ever  spoke,  not  forgettin'  that  last 
night  when  I  left  you  on  the  sands,  and  stole 
away  like  a  thief  across  the  sea.  I  'm  going 
to  tell  you  the  whole  truth  in  my  next  letter, 
but  I  'd  like  you  to  forgive  me  before  you 
know  it  all,  for  't  is  a  right  lonely  and  distant 
land,  this,  and  who  can  tell  what  may  come 
to  pass  in  twice  a  twelvemonth !  Maybe  a 
prayer  on  lips  like  mine  does  n't  seem  in 
place,  for  I  Ve  not  lived  as  parson  says  man 
ought  to  live,  but  I  think  the  Lord  will  have 
no  worse  thought  o'  me  when  I  say,  God 
bless  thee,  lass,  and  keep  thee  safe  as  any 
flower  in  His  garden  that  He  watereth  with 
His  own  hand.  Write  to  me,  lass :  I  love 
thee  still,  I  do  love  thee. 

DICK  ORRY. 

61 


TALES  OF  OUR  COAST 


II 

THE  BOOK-IN-HAND  INK, 
MABLETHORPE,  LINCOLNSHIRE. 
May-Day,  1749. 

DEAR  COUSIN  DICK,  —  I  think  I  have  not 
been  so  glad  in  many  years  as  when  I  got 
your  letter  last  Guy  Fawkes  Day.  I  was 
coming  from  the  church  where  the  parson 
preached  on  plots  and  treasons,  and  obedience 
to  the  King,  when  I  saw  the  old  postman 
coming  down  the  road.  I  made  quickly  to 
him,  I  know  not  why,  for  I  had  not  thought 
to  hear  from  you,  and  before  I  reached  him 
he  held  up  his  hand,  showing  me  the  stout 
packet  which  brought  me  news  of  you. 
I  hurried  with  it  to  the  inn,  and  went  straight 
to  my  room  and  sat  down  by  the  window, 
where  I  used  to  watch  for  your  coming  with 
the  fishing  fleet,  down  the  sea  from  the 
Dogger  Bank.  I  was  only  a  girl,  a  young  girl, 

then,   and   the    Dogger   Bank   was,    to    my 

62 


'SORROW   ON  THE   SEA' 

mind,  as  far  off  as  that  place  you  call  York 
Factory,  in  Hudson's  Bay,  is  to  me  now. 
And  yet  I  did  not  know  how  very  far  it 
was  until  our  schoolmaster  showed  me  on 
a  globe  how  few  days'  sail  it  is  to  the 
Dogger  Bank,  and  how  many  to  York 
Factory. 

But  I  will  tell  you  of  my  reading  of  your 
letter,  and  of  what  I  thought.  But  first  I 
must  go  back  a  little.  When  you  went  away 
that  wild,  dark  night,  with  bitter  words  on 
your  lips  to  me,  Cousin  Dick,  I  thought  I 
should  never  feel  the  same  again.  You  did 
not  know  it,  but  I  was  bearing  the  misery  of 
your  trouble  and  of  another's  also,  and  of 
my  own  as  well ;  and  so  I  said  over  and  over 
again  :  Oh,  why  will  men  be  hard  on  women  ? 
Why  do  they  look  for  them  to  be  iron  like 
themselves,  bearing  double  burdens  as  most 
women  do?  But  afterwards,  I  settled  to  a 
quietness  which  I  would  not  have  you  think 
was  happiness,  for  I  have  given  up  thought 

of  that.     Nor  would   I  have  you  think  me 

63 


TALES  OF   OUR   COAST 

bearing  trouble  sweetly,  for  sometimes  I  was 
most  hard  and  stubborn.  But  I  lived  on  in 
a  sort  of  stillness  till  that  morning  when, 
sitting  by  my  window,  I  read  all  you  had 
written  to  me.  And  first  of  all,  I  must  tell 
you  how  my  heart  was  touched  at  your  words 
about  our  childhood  together.  I  had  not 
thought  it  lay  so  deep  in  your  mind,  Cousin 
Dick.  It  always  stays  in  mine ;  but  then, 
women  have  more  memories  than  men.  The 
story  of  that  night  I  knew ;  but  never  fully 
as  you  have  told  it  to  me  in  your  letter.  Of 
what  happened  after  Lancy  Doane  left  the 
inn,  of  which  you  have  not  written,  but 
promised  the  writing  in  your  next  letter,  I 
think  I  know  as  well  as  yourself.  Nay, 
more,  Cousin  Dick.  There  are  some  mat- 
ters concerning  what  followed  that  night 
and  after,  which  I  know,  and  you  do  not 
know.  But  you  have  guessed  there  was 
something  which  I  did  not  tell  you,  and 
so  there  was.  And  I  will  tell  you  of  them 

now.      But    I    will    take    up   the    thread  of 

64 


'SORROW   ON   THE   SEA1 

the  story  where  you  dropped  it,  and  reel 
it  out. 

You  left  the  inn  soon  after  Lancy  Doane, 
and  James  Faddo  went  then,  too,  riding  hard 
for  Theddlethorpe,  for  he  knew  that  in  less 
than  an  hour  the  coastguards  would  be  rifling 
the  hiding-places  of  his  smuggled  stuff.  You 
did  not  take  a  horse,  but,  getting  a  musket, 
you  walked  the  sands  hard  to  Theddlethorpe. 

I  know  it  all,  though  you  did  not  tell  me, 
Cousin  Dick.  You  had  no  purpose  in  going, 
save  to  see  the  end  of  a  wretched  quarrel 
and  a  smuggler's  ill-scheme.  You  carried  a 
musket  for  your  own  safety,  not  with  any 
purpose.  It  was  a  day  of  weight  in  your 
own  life,  for  on  one  side  you  had  an  offer 
from  the  Earl  Fitzwilliam  to  serve  on  his 
estate ;  and  on  the  other  to  take  a  share  in 
a  little  fleet  of  fishing  smacks,  of  which  my 
father  was  part  owner.  I  think  you  know  to 
which  side  I  inclined,  but  that  now  is  neither 
here  nor  there ;  and,  though  you  did  not  tell 

me,  as  you  went  along  the  shore  you  were 
5  65 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

more  intent  on  handing  back  and  forth  in 
your  mind  your  own  affairs,  than  of  what 
should  happen  at  Theddlethorpe.  And  so 
you  did  not  hurry  as  you  went,  and,  as  things 
happened,  you  came  to  Faddo's  house  almost 
at  the  same  moment  with  Lancy  Doane  and 
two  other  mounted  coastguards. 

You  stood  in  the  shadow  while  they 
knocked  at  Faddo's  door.  You  were  so  near, 
you  could  see  the  hateful  look  in  his  face. 
You  were  surprised  he  did  not  try  to  stand 
the  coastguards  off.  You  saw  him,  at  their 
bidding,  take  a  lantern,  and  march  with  them 
to  a  shed  standing  off  a  little  from  the  house, 
nearer  to  the  shore.  Going  a  round-about 
swiftly,  you  came  to  the  shed  first,  and  posted 
yourself  at  the  little  window  on  the  sea-side. 
You  saw  them  enter  with  the  lantern,  saw 
them  shift  a  cider  press,  uncover  the  floor, 
and  there  beneath,  in  a  dry  well,  were  barrels 
upon  barrels  of  spirits,  and  crouched  among 
them  was  a  man  whom  you  all  knew  at  once, 

—  Lancy's    brother,     Tom.      That,    Cousin 

66 


'SORROW  ON  THE  SEA' 

Dick,  was  Jim  Faddo's  revenge.  Tom 
Doane  had  got  refuge  with  him  till  he 
should  reach  his  brother,  not  knowing  Lancy 
was  to  be  coastguard.  Faddo,  coming  back 
from  Mablethorpe,  told  Tom  the  coast- 
guards were  to  raid  him  that  night ;  and  he 
made  him  hide  in  this  safe  place,  as  he 
called  it,  knowing  that  Lancy  would  make 
for  it. 

For  a  minute  after  Tom  was  found  no 
man  stirred.  Tom  was  quick  of  brain  and 
wit  —  would  it  had  always  been  put  to 
good  purposes !  —  and  saw  at  once  Faddo's 
treachery.  Like  winking  he  fired  at  the 
traitor,  who  was  almost  as  quick  to  return 
the  fire.  What  made  you  do  it  I  know  not, 
unless  it  was  you  hated  treachery ;  but,  slid- 
ing in  at  the  open  door  behind  the  coast- 
guards, you  snatched  the  lantern  from  the 
hands  of  one,  threw  it  out  of  the  open  door, 
and,  thrusting  them  aside,  called  for  Tom  to 
follow  you.  He  sprang  towards  you  over 

Faddo's  body,  even  as  you  threw  the  lantern, 

67 


TALES   OF  OUR  COAST 

and  catching  his  arm,  you  ran  with  him 
towards  the  dyke. 

*  Ready  for  a  great  jump ! '  you  said ;  'your 
life  hangs  on  it.'  He  was  even  longer  of  leg 
than  you.  '  Is  it  a  dyke  ? '  he  whispered,  as 
the  shots  from  three  muskets  rang  after  you. 
*  A  dyke.  When  I  count  three,  jump,'  you 
answered.  I  have  read  somewhere  of  the 
great  leap  that  one  Don  Alvarado,  a  Span- 
iard, made  in  Mexico,  but  surely  never  was  a 
greater  leap  than  you  two  made  that  night, 
landing  safely  on  the  other  side,  and  making 
for  the  sea-shore.  None  of  the  coastguards- 
men,  not  even  Lancy,  could  make  the  leap, 
for  he  was  sick  and  trembling,  though  he 
had  fired  upon  his  own  brother.  And  so 
they  made  for  the  bridge  some  distance 
above,  just  as  the  faint  moon  slipped  behind 
a  cloud  and  hid  you  from  their  sight. 

That  is  no  country  to  hide  in,  as  you 
know  well,  —  no  caves,  or  hills,  or  mazy 
coombes,  —  just  a  wide,  flat,  reedy  place, 

broken  by  open  wolds.     The  only  refuge  for 

68 


both  now  was  the  sea.  'T  was  a  wild  run 
you  two  made,  side  by  side,  down  that  shore, 
keeping  close  within  the  gloom  of  the  sand- 
hills, the  coastguards  coming  after,  pressing 
you  closer  than  they  thought  at  the  time,  for 
Tom  Doane  had  been  wounded  in  the  leg. 
But  Lancy  sent  one  back  for  the  horses,  he 
and  the  other  coming  on ;  and  so,  there  you 
were,  two  and  two.  'T  was  a  cruel  task  for 
Lancy  that  night,  enough  to  turn  a  man's 
hair  grey.  But  duty  was  duty,  though  those 
two  lads  were  more  to  each  other  than  most 
men  ever  are.  You  know  how  it  ended. 
But  I  want  to  go  all  over  it  just  to  show  you 
that  I  understand.  You  were  within  a  mile 
of  Mablethorpe,  when  you  saw  a  little  fishing 
smack  come  riding  in,  and  you  made  straight 
for  it.  Who  should  be  in  the  smack  but 
Solby,  the  canting  Baptist,  who  was  no  friend 
to  you,  or  my  uncle,  or  any  of  us.  You  had 
no  time  for  bargaining  or  coaxing,  and  so,  at 
the  musket's  mouth,  you  drove  him  from  the 
boat,  and  pushed  it  out  just  as  Lancy  and  his 


TALES  OF  OUR  COAST 

men  came  riding  up.  Your  sail  was  up,  and 
you  turned  the  lugger  to  the  wind  in  as  little 
time  as  could  be,  but  the  coastguardsmen 
rode  after  you,  calling  you  to  give  in.  No 
man  will  ever  know  the  bitter  trouble  in 
Lancy's  heart  when  he  gave  the  order  to  fire 
on  you,  though  he  did  not  fire  himself.  And 
you,  —  do  I  not  know,  Cousin  Dick,  what  you 
did  ?  Tom  Doane  was  not  the  man  to  fire 
at  the  three  dark  figures  riding  you  down, 
not  knowing  which  was  his  brother.  But 
you,  you  understood  that ;  and  you  were  in, 
you  said  to  yourself,  and  you  'd  play  the  game 
out,  come  what  would.  You  raised  your 
musket  and  drew  upon  a  figure.  At  that  mo- 
ment a  coastguard's  musket  blazed,  and  you 
saw  the  man  you  had  drawn  on  was  Lancy 
Doane.  You  lowered  your  musket,  and  as 
you  did  a  ball  struck  you  on  the  wrist. 

Oh,  I  have  thanked  God  a  hundred  times, 
dear  Cousin  Dick,  that  you  fired  no  shot 
that  night,  but  only  helped  a  hunted,  mis- 
erable man  away,  for  you  did  get  free.  Just 

72 


'SORROW   ON   THE   SEA' 

in  the  nick  of  time  your  sail  caught  the 
wind  bravely,  and  you  steered  for  the  open 
sea.  Three  days  from  that,  Tom  Doane 
was  safe  at  the  Hague,  and  you  were  on 
your  way  back  to  Lincolnshire.  You  came 
by  a  fishing  boat  to  Saltfleet  Haven,  and 
made  your  way  down  the  coast  towards 
Mablethorpe.  Passing  Theddlethorpe,  you 
went  up  to  Faddo's  house,  and,  looking 
through  the  window,  you  saw  Faddo,  not 
dead,  but  being  cared  for  by  his  wife.  Then 
you  came  on  to  Mablethorpe,  and  standing 
under  my  window,  at  the  very  moment  when 
I  was  on  my  knees  praying  for  the  safety  of 
those  who  travelled  by  sea,  you  whistled, 
like  a  quail  from  the  garden  below,  —  the  old 
signal.  Oh,  how  my  heart  stood  still  a 
moment,  and  then  leaped,  for  I  knew  it  was 
you.  I  went  down  to  the  garden,  and  there 
you  were.  Oh,  I  was  glad  to  see  you 
Cousin  Dick! 

You   remember   how  I  let  you    take    me 

in   your   arms   for   an    instant,  and    then   I 

73 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

; 

asked  if  he  was  safe.  And  when  you  told 
me  that  he  was,  I  burst  into  tears,  and  I 
asked  you  many  questions  about  him.  And 
you  answered  them  quickly,  and  then  would 
have  taken  me  in  your  arms  again.  But  I 
would  not  let  you,  for  then  I  knew — I  knew 
that  you  loved  me,  and,  oh,  a  dreadful  feeling 
came  into  my  heart,  and  I  drew  back,  and 
could  have  sunk  upon  the  ground  in  misery, 
but  that  there  came  a  thought  of  your  safety. 
He  was  safe,  but  you,  —  you  were  here, 
where  reward  was  set  for  you.  I  begged 
you  to  come  into  the  house,  that  I  might 
hide  you  there,  but  you  would  not.  You 
had  come  for  one  thing,  you  said,  and  only 
one.  An  hour  or  two,  and  then  you  must 
be  gone  for  London.  And  so  you  urged  me 
to  the  beach.  I  was  afraid  we  might  be 
seen,  but  you  led  me  away  from  the  cot- 
tages near  to  the  little  bridge  which  crosses 
the  dyke.  By  that  way  we  came  to  the 
sands,  as  we  thought  unnoted.  But  no,  who 

should  it  be  to  see  us  but  that  canting  Bap- 

74 


'SORROW  ON  THE  SEA' 

tist,  Solby !  And  so  the  alarm  was  given. 
You  had  come,  dear  Cousin  Dick,  to  ask  me 
one  thing,  —  if  I  loved  you  ?  and  if,  should 
you  ever  be  free  to  come  back,  I  would  be 
your  wife  ?  I  did  not  answer  you ;  I  could 
not  answer  you ;  and,  when  you  pressed  me, 
I  begged  you  to  have  pity  on  me,  and  not  to 
speak  of  it.  You  thought  I  was  not  brave 
enough  to  love  a  man  open  to  the  law.  As 
if  —  as  if  I  knew  not  that  what  you  did  came 
out  of  a  generous,  reckless  heart !  And  on 
my  knees  —  oh,  on  my  knees  —  I  ought  to 
have  thanked  you  for  it.  But  I  knew  not 
what  to  say;  my  lips  were  closed.  And 
just  then  shots  were  fired,  and  we  saw  the 
coastguards'  lights.  Then  came  Lancy 
Doane  stumbling  down  the  banks,  and  our 
parting,  —  our  parting.  Your  bitter  laugh 
as  you  left  me  has  rung  in  my  ears  ever 
since. 

Do   not  think   we    have   been   idle   here 
in   your   cause,  for   I    myself  went  to   Earl 

Fitzwilliam  and   told    him    the  whole  story, 

75 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

and  how  you  had  come  to  help  Tom 
Doane  that  night.  How  do  I  know  of  it 
all  ?  Because  I  have  seen  a  letter  from 
Tom  Doane.  Well,  the  Earl  promised  to 
lay  your  case  before  the  King  himself, 
and  to  speak  for  you  with  good  eager 
entreaty.  And  so,  it  may  be,  by  next  time 
I  write,  there  will  go  good  news  to  you, 
and  —  will  you  then  come  back,  dear  Cousin 
Dick? 

And  I  now  want  to  tell  you  what  I  know, 
and  what  you  do  not  know.  Tom  Doane 
had  a  wife  in  Mablethorpe.  He  married  her 
when  she  was  but  sixteen,  —  a  child.  But 
she  was  afraid  of  her  father's  anger,  and  her 
husband  soon  after  went  abroad,  became  one 
of  Prince  Charlie's  men,  and  she 's  never 
seen  him  since.  She  never  really  loved  him, 
but  she  never  forgot  that  she  was  his  wife ; 
and  she  always  dreaded  his  coming  back ;  as 
well  she  might,  for  you  see  what  happened 
when  he  did  come.  I  pitied  her,  dear  Cousin 

Dick,  with   all  my  heart  •   and  when  Tom 

76 


'SORROW   ON  THE   SEA' 

Doane  died  on  the  field  of  battle  in  Holland 
last  year,  I  wept  with  her  and  prayed  for 
her.  And  you  would  have  wept  too,  man 
though  you  are,  if  you  had  seen  how  grate- 
ful she  was  that  he  died  in  honourable 
fighting,  and  not  in  a  smuggler's  cave  at 
Theddlethorpe.  She  blessed  you  for  that, 
and  she  never  ceases  to  work  with  me  for 
the  King's  pardon  for  you. 

There  is  no  more  to  say  now,  dear  Cousin 
Dick,  save  that  I  would  have  you  know  I 
think  of  you  with  great  desire  of  heart  for 
your  well-being,  and  I  pray  God  for  your 
safe  return  some  day  to  the  good  country 
which,  pardoning  you,  will  cast  you  out  no 
more. 

I  am,  dear  Cousin  Dick, 

Thy  most  affectionate  Cousin, 

FANNY. 

P.S.  —  Dear  Dick,  my  heart  bursts  for  joy. 
Enclosed  here  is  thy  pardon,  sent  by  the 

good  Earl  Fitzwilliam   last  night.     I  could 

77 


TALES  OF  OUR  COAST 

serve  him  on  my  knees  forever.  Dick,  she 
that  was  Tom  Doane's  wife,  she  loves  thee. 
Wilt  thou  not  come  back  to  her?  In  truth, 
she  always  loved  thee.  She  was  thy  cousin ; 
she  is  thy  Fanny.  Now  thou  knowest  all. 


THE  PATH   OF   MURTOGH 

BY 

HAROLD   FREDERIC 


THE   PATH   OF    MURTOGH 

A  CURSE  is  laid  on  one  long  narrow  strip 
of  the  sea,  down  in  front  of  Dunlogher. 

No  matter  how  lifeless  the  sunlit  air  may 
hang  above ;  no  matter  how  silken-smooth 
the  face  of  the  waters  nearest  by,  lifting 
themselves  without  a  ripple  in  the  most 
indolent  summer  swell,  —  an  angry  churning 
goes  always  forward  here.  Disordered  cur- 
rents will  never  tire  of  their  coiling  and 
writhing  somewhere  underneath :  the  surface 
is  streaked  with  sinister  markings  like  black 
shadows,  which  yet  are  no  shadows  at  all ; 
and  these  glide  without  ceasing  out  and  in 
among  the  twisted  lines  of  grey-white  scum, 
and  everything  moves  and  nothing  changes, 

till  Judgment  Day.     It  has  the  name  of  the 
6  81 


TALES   OF  OUR  COAST 

Slighe  Mhuirchcartaigh  (spoken  Shlee  Vur- 
harthee),  or  the  Path  of  Murtogh. 

Though  't  is  well  known  that  the  grandest 
ling  and  turbot  and  wonderful  other  big 
fishes  lie  swaying  themselves  in  the  depths 
of  this  wicked  water,  with  giant  crayfish  and 
crabs  to  bear  them  company,  the  fishermen 
of  Dunmanus  and  Goleen  and  Crookhaven, 
and  even  the  strangers  from  Cape  Clear, 
would  not  buy  a  soul  from  Purgatory  at  the 
price  of  drawing  a  net  through  it.  They 
have  a  great  wish  to  please  the  buyers  in 
the  English  ships,  and  the  Scotch  and 
Manx,  O  yes,  —  but  a  creel  of  gold  would 
not  tempt  them  to  meddle  in  '  Murty's  Path.' 
They  steer  their  boats  far  to  one  side,  and 
bless  themselves  as  they  pass,  in  the  man- 
ner of  their  fathers  and  grandfathers  before 
them. 

These  poor  men,  having  not  much  of  the 
Irish  now,  and  not  rightly  understanding 
what  their  elders  may  have  heard  the  truth 

of,  say  that  this  snake-like  forbidding  stretch 

82 


THE   PATH   OF   MURTOGH 

wears  its  name  from  Murty  Oge  O'Sullivan. 
Their  thought  is  that  the  uncanny  boiling 
began  in  the  wake  of  the  English  Speedwell, 
as  the  corpse  of  the  vanquished  privateer 
spun  and  twirled  at  her  keel  through  the 
foam,  on  its  savage  last  journey  from  Castle- 
town  to  Cork.  But  it  is  enough  to  look 
down  at  this  evil  place,  to  see  that  the  male- 
diction upon  it  must  be  older  than  Murty 
Oges  time,  which,  in  the  sight  of  Dunlogher, 
was  as  yesterday.  Why,  men  are  living  this 
year  who  talked  with  men  who  saw  his  head 
spiked  over  South  gate.  There  were  no 
great  curses  left  unused  in  Ireland  at  so  late 
a  day  as  his.  And  again,  would  it  be  the 
waters  of  Dunlogher  that  would  tear  them- 
selves for  an  O'Sullivan? 

No,  the  curse  threads  back  a  dozen  lives 
behind  poor  Murty  Oge.  The  strange  cur- 
rents weave  and  twine,  and  the  greasy  foam 
spreads  and  gathers,  gathers  and  spreads,  in 
the  path  of  another,  whose  birthright  it  was 

that  they  should  baptise  him.     The  true  tale 

85 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

is  of  Murty  the  Proud,  or  if  you  will  have  his 
style  from  the  Book  of  Schull,  —  Murtogh 
Mordha  O'Mahony,  chief  in  Dunlogher. 
And  his  time  is  not  so  distant,  in  one  way, 
as  men  take  account  of  years.  But  in 
another  it  is  too  remote  for  any  clear  vision, 
because  the  'little  people'  of  the  old,  fearful 
kind  had  left  every  other  part  of  Ireland, 
and  they  were  just  halting  together  for  a 
farewell  pause  in  Dunlogher,  by  reason  of  its 
being  the  last  end  of  the  land,  and  their  en- 
chantments fanned  up  a  vapour  about  Murty 
Mordha  to  his  undoing.  And  it  is  as  if  that 
mist  still  rose  between  us  and  his  story. 


When  the  sun  began  to  sink  out  of  sight, 
down  behind  the  sea,  two  men  stood  on  the 
edge  of  the  great  cliff  of  Dunlogher,  their 
faces  turned  to  the  west. 

The    yellow    flame   from   the   sky   shone 

full  in  the  eyes  of  Murtogh,  and  he  held  his 

86 


THE   PATH   OF   MURTOGH 

huge,  bare  head  erect  with  boldness,  and 
stared  back  at  it  without  blinking.  His 
companion,  a  little,  shrivelled  old  man,  whom 
he  held  by  the  arm,  had  the  glowing  light 
on  his  countenance  as  well,  but  his  eyelids 
were  shut.  He  bent  himself  against  his 
chief's  thick  shoulder  and  trembled. 

*  Are  we  to  the  brink  itself  ? '  he  asked  ; 
his  aged  voice  shook  when  he  spoke. 

4  Here,  where  I  stand,  when  I  would 
grip  you,  and  hold  you  forth  at  the  length  of 
my  arm,  and  open  my  hand,  you  would  fall 
a  hundred  fathoms  in  the  air.'  Murtogh's 
free  arm  and  hand  made  the  terrible  gesture 
to  fit  his  words,  but  he  tightened  his  pro- 
tecting clasp  upon  the  other,  and  led  him 
back  a  few  paces.  The  old  man  groaned 
his  sigh  of  relief. 

1  It  is  you  who  are  the  brave  nobleman, 
Murty,'  he  whispered,  admiringly.  '  There 
is  none  to  equal  your  strength,  or  your  grand 
courage,  in  all  the  land.  And  the  heart  of 
pure  gold  along  with  it ! ' 


TALES  OF  OUR  COAST 

Murtogh  tossed  his  big  head,  to  shake 
the  twisted  forelock  of  his  hair  to  one  side. 
•I  looked  straight  into  the  sun  at  noon  on 
St.  John's  Day,'  he  said,  quietly,  with  the 
pride  of  a  child.  *  If  it  were  a  hundred 
times  as  bright,  I  would  look  at  it,  and  never 
fear  for  my  eyes.  I  would  hold  my  own  son 
out  here,  stretched  over  the  abyss,  and  he 
would  be  no  safer  in  his  bed.  Whatever 
I  wished  to  do,  I  would  do  it.' 

'  You  would  —  O,  you  would  ! '  assented 
the  old  man,  in  tones  of  entire  sincerity. 

The  chieftain  kept  his  eyes  on  the  sky- 
line, beneath  which,  as  the  radiance  above 
deepened,  the  waters  grew  ashen  and  coldly 
dark.  Musing,  he  held  his  silence  for  a  time. 
Then,  with  abruptness,  he  asked :  — 

'  What  age  were  you,  Owny  Hea,  when 
the  McSwineys  put  out  your  eyes  ?  Were 
you  strong  enough  to  remember  the  sun 
well  ? ' 

*  I   was   of   no  strength  at  all,'  the  other 

whimpered,   the    tragedy   of  his  childhood 

88 


THE   PATH   OF   MURTOGH 

affecting  his  speech  on  the  instant.  '  I  was 
in  my  mother's  arms.  There  were  the  men 
breaking  in  through  the  wall,  and  the  kine 
bellowing  outside,  and  my  father  cut  down ; 
and  then  it  was  like  my  mother  drew  her 
cloak  tight  over  my  head,  —  and  no  one 
came  ever  to  take  it  off  again.  I  forget  the 
sun.' 

Murtogh  nodded  his  head.  *  I  will  go 
to  Muskerry  some  day,'  he  said,  in  a  kindly 
way.  'I  cannot  tell  when,  just  now;  but  I 
will  go,  and  I  will  burn  and  desolate  every- 
thing for  six  miles  around,  and  you  shall 
have  a  bag  for  your  harp  made  of  eyelids 
of  the  McSwineys.' 

Old  Owny  lifted  his  sightless  face  toward 
his  master,  and  smiled  with  wistful  affection. 
'Ah,  Murty,  dear,'  he  expostulated,  mildly, 
'it  is  you  who  have  the  grand  nature;  but 
think,  Murty,  —  I  am  a  very  old  man,  and  no 
kin  of  yours.  It  is  fifty  years  since  the  last 
man  who  took  my  eyes  drew  breath.  If 

you  went  now,  no  living  soul  could  tell  what 

89 


TALES  OF  OUR  COAST 

you  came  for,  or  why  the  great  suffering 
was  put  upon  them.  And,  moreover,  the 
O'Mahonys  Carbery  have  wives  from  the 
McSwineys  these  three  generations.  No 
feud  lies  now.' 

The  lord  of  Dunlogher  growled  sharply 
between  his  teeth,  and  Owny  shrank  further 
back. 

'  How  long  will  you  be  learning,'  Mur- 
togh  demanded,  with  an  arrogant  note  in 
his  voice,  '  that  I  have  no  concern  in  the 
O'Mahonys  Carbery,  or  the  O'Mahonys 
Fonn-Iartarach,  or  any  other?  I  do  not 
take  heed  of  Conogher  of  Ardintenant,  or 
Teige  of  Rosbrin,  or  Donogh  of  Dunmanus, 
or  Donal  of  Leamcon.  I  will  give  them  all 
my  bidding  to  do,  and  they  will  do  it,  or  I 
will  kill  them,  and  spoil  their  castles.  You 
could  not  behold  it,  but  you  have  your  song 
from  the  words  of  others :  how  last  year  I 
fell  upon  Diarmaid  Bhade,  and  crushed  him 
and  his  house,  and  slew  his  son,  and  brought 

away   his   herds.      His  father's   father    and 

90 


THE    PATH  OF   MURTOGH 

mine  were  brothers.  He  is  nearer  to  me  in 
blood  than  the  rest,  yet  I  would  not  spare 
him.  I  made  his  Ballydevlin  a  nest  for  owls 
and  bats.  Let  the  others  observe  what  I 
did.  I  am  in  Dunlogher,  and  I  am  the 
O'Mahony  here,  and  I  look  the  sun  in  the 
face  like  an  eagle.  Put  that  to  your  song ! ' 

The  sound  came  to  them,  from  .the 
walled  bawn  and  gateways  beyond  the 
Three  Castles,  a  hundred  yards  behind,  of 
voices  in  commotion.  The  old  bard  lifted 
his  head,  and  his  brow  scored  itself  in  lines 
of  listening  attention.  If  Murtogh  heard,  he 
gave  no  sign,  but  gazed  again  in  meditation 
out  upon  the  vast  waste  of  waters,  blackening 
now  as  the  purple  reflections  of  the  twilight 
waned. 

*  Blind  men  have  senses  that  others  lack/ 
he  remarked  at  last.  '  Tell  me,  you,  does 
the  earth  we  stand  on  seem  ever  to  you  to 
be  turning  round?* 

Owny  shuddered  a  little  at  the  thought 

which  came   to  him.     '  When   you  led  me 
.91 


TALES   OF   OUR  COAST 

out  beyond  here,  and  I  felt  the  big  round  sea- 
pinks  under  my  feet,  and  remembered  they 
grew  only  on  the  very  edge  — '  he  began. 

'  Not  that,'  the  chief  broke  in,  '  't  is  not 
my  meaning.  But  at  Rosbrin  there  was  a 
book  written  by  Fineen  the  son  of  Diarmaid, 
an  uncle  to  my  father's  father,  and  my  father 
heard  it  read  from  this  book  that  the  world 
turned  round  one  way,  like  a  duck  on  a  spit, 
and  the  sun  turned  round  the  other  way, 
and  that  was  why  they  were  apart  all  night. 
And  often  I  come  here,  and  I  swear  there  is 
a  movement  under  my  feet.  But  elsewhere 
there  is  none,  not  in  the  bawn,  or  in  the 
towers,  or  anywhere  else  but  just  here/ 

The  old  man  inclined  his  face,  as  if  he 
could  see  the  ground  he  stood  upon,  but 
shook  his  head  after  a  moment's  waiting. 
;  It  would  not  be  true,  Murty,'  he  suggested. 
*  Old  Fineen  had  a  mighty  scholarship,  as  I 
have  heard,  and  he  made  an  end  to  edify  the 
angels,  but  —  but  — ' 

Murtogh  did  not  wait  for  the  hesitating 

92 


THE   PATH   OF   MURTOGH 

conclusion.  '  I  saw  his  tomb  when  I  was  a 
lad,  in  the  chapel  at  Rosbrin.  He  was  laid 
at  his  own  desire  under  a  weight  of  stone 
like  my  wall  here.  I  saw  even  then  how 
foolish  it  was.  These  landsmen  have  no 
proper  sense.  How  will  they  rise  at  the 
blessed  Resurrection,  with  all  that  burden, 
of  stone  to  hold  them  down  ?  I  have  a 
better  understanding  than  that.  I  buried 
my  father,  as  he  buried  his  father,  out  yonder 
in  the  sea.  And  I  will  be  buried  there,  too, 
and  my  son  after  me  —  and  if  I  have  other 
children  — '  he  stole  a  swift  glance  at  the  old 
man's  withered  face  as  he  spoke  — '  if  I  have 
others,  I  say,  it  will  be  my  command  that 
they  shall  follow  me  there,  when  their  time 
comes.  I  make  you  witness  to  that  wish, 
Owny  Hea.' 

The  bard  hung  his  head.  '  As  if  my 
time  would  not  come  first !'  he  said,  for  the 
mere  sake  of  saying  something.  Then, 
gathering  courage,  he  pulled  upon  the 

strong   arm   which   was   still  locked   in  his, 

93 


TALES   OF  OUR  COAST 

and  raised  his  head  to  speak  softly  in  the 
O'Mahony's  ear. 

1  If  only  the  desire  of  your  heart .  were 
given  you,  Murty,'  he  murmured ;  '  if  only 
once  I  could  hold  a  babe  of  yours  to  my 
breast,  and  put  its  pretty  little  hands  in  my 
beard,  —  I  'd  be  fit  to  pray  for  the  men  who 
took  my  eyes  from  me.  And  Murty  dear,'  — 
his  voice  rose  in  tremulous  entreaty  as  he 
went  on,  — '  tell  me,  Murty,  —  I  'm  of  an  age 
to  be  your  father's  father,  and  I  've  no  eye- 
sight to  shame  you,  —  is  she  —  is  your  holy 
wife  coming  to  see  her  duty  differently  ? 
Have  you  hope  that  —  that  —  ?' 

Murtogh  turned  abruptly  on  his  heel, 
swinging  his  companion  round  with  him. 
They  walked  a  dozen  paces  towards  the 
sea-gate  of  the  castles,  before  he  spoke. 
•'  You  have  never  seen  her,  Owny ! '  he  said, 
gravely.  *  You  do  not  know  at  all  how 
beautiful  she  is.  It  is  not  in  the  power  of 
your  mind  to  imagine  it.  There  is  no  one 

like  her  in  all  the  world.     She  is  not  just 

94 


THE   PATH   OF   MURTOGH 

flesh  and  blood  like  you,  Owny,  or  even  like 
me.  I  am  a  great  lord  among  men,  Owny, 
and  I  am  not  afraid  of  any  man.  I  would 
put  the  MacCarthy,  or  even  the  Earl  of 
Desmond,  over  my  cliff  like  a  rat,  if  he  came 
to  me  here,  and  would  not  do  me  honour. 
But  whenever  I  come  where  she  sits,  I  am 
like  a  little  dirty  boy,  frightened  before  a 
great  shrine  of  our  Blessed  Lady,  all  with 
jewels  and  lights  and  incense.  I  take  shame 
to  myself  when  she  looks  at  me,  that  there 
are  such  things  in  my  heart  for  her  to  see.' 

Owny  sighed  deeply.  '  The  grandest 
princess  in  the  world  might  be  proud  to  be 
mated  to  you,  Murty,'  he  urged. 

'  True  enough/  responded  Murtogh,  with 
candour.  '  But  she  is  not  a  princess,  —  or  any 
mere  woman  at  all.  She  is  a  saint.  Perhaps 
she  is  more  still.  Listen,  Owny.  Do  you 
remember  how  I  took  her,  —  how  I  swam  for 
her  through  the  breakers  —  and  snapped  the 
bone  of  my  arm  to  keep  the  mast  of  their 
wreck  from  crushing  her  when  the  wave 
95 


TALES   OF   OUR  COAST 

flung  it  upon  us,  and  still  made  land  with 
her  head  on  my  neck,  and  hung  to  the  bare 
rock  against  all  the  devils  of  the  sea  sucking 
to  pull  me  down  —  ? ' 

1  Is  it  not  all  in  my  song?'  said  Owny, 
with  gentle  reproach. 

'  Owny,  man,  listen  I '  said  Murtogh,  halt- 
ing and  giving  new  impressiveness  to  his 
tone.  '  I  took  her  from  the  water.  Her 
companions  were  gone;  their  vessel  was 
gone.  Did  we  ever  see  sign  of  them  after- 
ward ?  And  her  family,  —  the  Sigersons  of 
that  island  beyond  Tiobrad,  —  when  men  of 
mine  sailed  thither,  and  asked  for  Hugh,  son 
of  Art,  were  they  not  told  that  the  O'Flaherty 
had  passed  over  the  island,  and  left  nothing 
alive  on  it  the  size  of  a  mussel  shell  ?  Draw 
nearer  to  me,  Owny.  You  will  be  thinking 
the  more  without  your  eyes.  Have  you 
thought  that  it  may  be  she  — whisper  now!  — 
that  she  may  belong  to  the  water?' 

They  stood  motionless  in   the   gathering 

twilight,  and  the  bard  turned  the    problem 

96 


THE   PATH   OF  MURTOGH 

over  deliberately.  At  last  he  seemed  to  shake 
his  head.  *  They  would  not  be  displaying 
such  piety,  as  the  old  stories  of  them  go,' 
he  suggested,  'or  —  I  mean  it  well  to  you, 
Murty  —  or  breaking  husbands'  hearts  with 
vows  of  celibacy.' 

The  O'Mahony  pushed  the  old  man  from 
him.  *  Then  if  she  be  a  saint,'  he  cried, 
'  why  then  it  were  better  for  me  to  make  ten 
thousand  more  blind  men  like  you,  and  tear 
my  own  eyes  out,  and  lead  you  all  headlong 
over  the  cliff  there,  than  risk  the  littlest 
offence  to  her  pure  soul ! ' 

The  old  bard  held  out  a  warning  hand. 

I  People  are  coming  1 '  he  said.     Then  gliding 
towards  his  chief,  he  seized  the  protecting 
arm  again,  and  patted  it,  and  fawned  against 
it.     *  Where  you  go,  Murty,'  he  said  eagerly, 

I 1  follow.     What  you  say,  I  say.' 

Some  dancing  lights  had  suddenly  re- 
vealed themselves  at  the  corner  of  the  near- 
est castle  wall.  Murtogh  had  not  realised 

before    that    it     was    dusk.       '  They    will 
7  97 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

be  looking  for  me,'  he  said,  and  moved 
forward,  guiding  his  companion's  steps. 
The  thought  that  with  Owny  it  was  always 
dark  rose  in  him,  and  drove  other  things 
away. 

Three  men  with  torches  came  up,  —  rough 
men  with  bare  legs  and  a  single  skirt-like 
tunic  of  yellow  woollen  cloth,  and  uncovered 
heads  with  tangled  and  matted  shocks  of 
black  hair.  The  lights  they  bore  gleamed 
again  in  the  fierce  eyes  which  looked  out 
from  under  their  forelocks. 

*  O'Mahony,'    one    of    them    said,     '  the 
liathan  priest  is  at  the  gate,  —  young  Donogh, 
son  of   Donogh  Bhade  who  fled  to   Spain. 
He  is  called  Father  Donatus  now.' 

1  What  will  he  want  here  ?  *  growled 
Murtogh.  'I  have  beaten  his  father;  if  I 
have  the  mind,  his  tonsure  will  not  hold  me 
from  beating  him  also.' 

*  He  has  brought  a  foreign  Spaniard,   a 
young  man  with  breeches  and  a  sword,  who 

comes  to  you  from  the  King  of  Spain/ 

98 


THE   PATH   OF   MURTOGH 

Murtogh  straightened  himself,  and  dis- 
engaged the  arm  of  the  blind  man.  '  Run 
forward,  you  two,'  he  ordered  sharply,  '  and 
call  all  the  men  from  the  bawns  and  the 
cattle  and  the  boats,  and  I  will  have  them 
light  torches,  and  stand  in  a  line  from  the 
second  tower  to  the  postern,  and  show  their 
spears  well  in  front,  and  be  silent.  I  will 
not  have  any  man  talk  but  myself,  or  thrust 
himself  into  notice.  We  were  Kings  of 
Rathlin,  and  we  have  our  own  matters  to 
discuss  with  the  Kings  of  Spain.' 


II. 

Three  score  fighting  men,  some  bearing 
lights,  and  all  showing  shields,  and  spears,  or 
javelins,  or  long  hooked  axes,  crowded  in  the 
semblance  of  a  line  along  the  narrow  way  to 
the  large  keep  —  and  behind  them  packed 
four  times  their  number  of  women  and  chil- 
dren —  watched  Murtogh  when  he  brought 

his  guests  past  from  the  gate. 

99 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

He  moved  proudly  up  the  boreen,  with  a 
slow  step,  and  the  gleam  of  a  high  nature  in 
his  eyes.  His  own  people  saw  afresh  how 
great  was  his  right  to  be  proud.  The  broad 
hard  muscles  of  his  legs,  straining  to  burst 
their  twisted  leather  thongs  as  he  walked  ; 
the  vast  weight  and  thickness  of  the  breast 
and  shoulders,  under  the  thin  summer  cloak 
of  cloth  from  the  Low  Countries  which  he 
held  wrapped  tight  about  them  ;  the  corded 
sinews  of  his  big  bare  neck ;  above  all,  the 
lion-like  head,  with  its  dauntless  regard  and 
its  splendid  brown-black  mane,  and  the 
sparkle  of  gold  in  the  bushing  glibb  on  his 
brow,  —  where  else  in  all  Ireland  would  their 
match  be  found?  But  for  that  strange  injunc- 
tion to  silence,  the  fighters  of  the  sept  would 
be  splitting  the  air  with  yells  for  their  chief- 
tain. They  struck  their  weapons  together, 
and  made  the  gaze  they  bent  upon  him  burn 
with  meaning,  and  he,  without  looking,  read 
it,  and  bore  himself  more  nobly  yet ;  and  the 
mothers  and  wives  and  little  ones,  huddled 


IOO 


THE  PATH   OF  MURTOGH 

behind  in  the  darkness,  groaned  aloud  with 
the  pain  of  their  joy  in  Murty  mordha. 

It  swelled  the  greatness  of  Murtogh  when 
they  looked  upon  those  who  followed  him. 
1  It  is  the  soggarlh  liathanl  they  whispered, 
at  view  of  the  young  priest,  with  his 
pointed  face  and  untimely  whitened  hair. 
He  would  not  turn  his  ferret  glance  to  right 
or  left,  as  he  followed  close  in  his  cousin's 
lordly  footsteps,  for  the  reason  that  these 
sea-wolves  of  Dunlogher  had  ravaged  and 
burnt  his  father's  country  within  the  year, 
and  slain  his  brother,  and  gnashed  their 
teeth  now,  even  as  he  passed,  for  rage  at  the 
sight  of  him. 

And  the  messenger  who  came  to  speak 
to  Murty  the  words  of  the  King  of  Spain ! 
They  grinned  as  they  stared  upon  him.  An 
eel-fly,  a  lame  fledgeling  gull,  a  young  crab 
that  has  lost  its  shell,  —  thus  they  murmured 
of  him.  His  legs  were  scarce  the  bigness  of 
a  Cape  woman's  arms,  and  were  clad  in  red 

silken  cloth  stretched  as  close  as  skin.     He 
101 


TALES  OF  OUR  COAST 

had  foolish  little  feet,  with  boots  of  yellow 
leather  rising  to  the  knee,  and  from  the  mid- 
thigh  to  the  waist  were  unseemly  bulging 
breeches,  blown  out  like  a  buoy,  and  gashed 
downwise  with  stripes  of  glowing  colours, 
repeated  again  in  his  flowing  sleeves.  His 
burnished  steel  corslet  and  long  reed-like 
sword  would  be  toys  for  children  in  Dun- 
logher.  His  face,  under  its  wide  plumed 
hat  of  drab  felt,  was  that  of  no  soldier  at  all, 
—  a  thin  smooth  rounded  face  of  a  strange 
smoky  darkness  of  hue,  with  tiny  upturned 
moustachios,  and  delicately  bended  nose. 
And  the  eyes  of  him !  They  seemed  to  be 
the  half  of  his  countenance  in  size,  what 
with  their  great  dusky-white  balls,  and  sloe 
black  centres,  and  their  thick  raven  fringes 
and  brows  that  joined  each  other.  The 
armed  kernes  who  stood  nearest  took  not 
much  heed  of  these  eyes,  but  the  older 
women,  peeping  between  their  shoulders,  saw 
little  else,  and  they  made  the  sign  of  the 

cross  at  the  sight. 

102 


THE   PATH   OF   MURTOGH 

When  two  hours  had  passed,  the  baser 
folk  of  Dunlogher  knew  roughly  what  was 
in  the  wind.  Two  wayfaring  men  of  humble 
station  had  come  in  the  train  of  the  Span- 
iard, and  though  they  had  no  Irish,  their 
story  somehow  made  itself  told.  A  ship 
from  Spain,  which  indeed  Dunlogher  had 
seen  pass  a  week  before,  had  put  in  at  Dingle, 
on  the  Kerry  coast,  and  had  landed  James 
Fitzmaurice,  the  Papal  legate  Sanders,  some 
other  clergy,  and  a  score  and  more  Spanish 
gentlemen  or  men  at  arms,  with  a  banner 
blessed  by  the  Holy  Father.  A  great  army 
from  Spain  and  Italy  would  follow  in  their 
wake.  But,  meantime,  the  first  comers  were 
building  a  fort  at  Smerwick,  and  the  clan 
of  Fitzgerald  was  up,  and  messengers  were 
flying  through  the  length  and  breadth  of 
Munster  and  Connaught,  passing  the  word 
to  the  Catholic  chiefs  that  the  hour  of  driving 
the  English  into  the  sea  was  at  hand. 

The  lower   floors  of   the   castle   and   the 

pleasant  grassy  bawns  outside,  cool  with  the 
103 


TALES   OF   OUR  COAST 

soft  sea  wind  of  the  summer  night,  were 
stirred  to  a  common  fervour  by  these  tidings. 
The  other  O'Mahonys,  the  chiefs  of  Dun- 
manus  and  Dunbeacon  to  the  north,  of 
Ballydevlin,  Leamcon,  Ardintenant,  and  Ros- 
brin  to  the  south,  and  elsewhere  in  Desmond 
the  O'Sullivans,  MacCarthys,  O'Driscolls 
and  the  rest,  were  clashing  their  shields. 
Ah,  when  they  should  see  Murty  striding 
into  the  field! 

In  the  big  hall  overhead,  where  —  after 
three  courses  of  stone  stairs  were  climbed, 
so  narrow  that  a  man  in  armour  must  needs 
walk  sideways  —  the  abode  of  the  chieftain 
and  his  own  blood  began,  Murtogh  was 
ready  to  hear  the  message  of  the  King  of 
Spain. 

The  broad  rough-hewn  table,  with  its 
dishes  of  half-cleaned  bones  and  broken 
cheeses  and  bread,  its  drinking  horns  and 
flagons,  and  litter  of  knives  and  spoons,  had 
been  given  over  to  the  master's  greyhounds, 

who  stood  with  forepaws  on  the  board  and 
104 


THE   PATH   OF   MURTOGH 

insinuated  their  long  necks  and  muzzles 
noiselessly  here  and  there  among  the  remains 
of  the  meal.  A  clump  of  reeds,  immersed  in 
a  brazier  of  fish  oil,  burned  smokily  among 
the  dishes  for  light. 

When,  at  the  finish  of  the  eating,  Murtogh 

v 
had   given    the   signal  for  departure  to  the 

dozen  strong  men  nearest  akin  to  him,  or 
in  his  best  favour,  there  were  left  only  his 
son,  a  slow,  good  lad  born  of  a  first  wife 
long  since  dead,  the  blind  Owny,  the  Span- 
iard and  the  liathan  (or  prematurely  grey) 
young  priest. 

Then  Murtogh  said  to  this  last  man: 
*  Donogh,  son  of  Donogh  Bhade,  I  have  not 
frowned  on  you  nor  struck  you,  for  the 
reason  that  you  are  my  guest.  But  be- 
cause my  hand  is  open  to  you,  it  is  no  reason 
that  I  should  lie,  and  pretend  that  I  am  your 
friend  or  you  mine.  Your  brother,  Diarmaid, 
the  one  I  could  not  get  to  kill,  calls  himself 
my  heir,  and  twice  has  sought  to  take  the 

life    of    my   son    here,    my    Donogh    baoth. 
105 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

Therefore,  I  wiL  have  you  go  now,  and  sit 
below  with  the  others,  or  read  your  prayers 
in  your  chamber  where  you  are  to  sleep, 
because  I  will  hear  now  what  the  King  of 
Spain  says  to  me,  and  that  is  not  meant  for 
your  ears.' 

The  priest  stood  on  his  feet.  'Your 
pride  does  not  become  you,  Murty  Mordhal 
he  said,  '  when  I  am  come  to  you  for  your 
soul's  sake  and  the  glory  of  religion.'  His 
voice  was  thin  and  high-pitched,  but  there 
was  no  fear  in  it. 

4 1  will  not  be  taking  trouble  for  my  soul 
just  now,'  replied  Murty;  'that  will  be  for 
another  time,  when  I  am  like  to  die.  And 
then  I  will  have  my  own  confessor,  and  not 
you,  nor  anyone  like  you.  So  you  will  go 
now,  as  I  bid  you.' 

Father  Donatus,  standing  still,  curled  his 
lips  in  a  hard  smile.  '  You  are  a  great  man, 
Murty !  You  could  dishonour  my  father,  and 
slay  my  brother  like  the  headstrong  bullock 

that  you  are ;  but  there  are  things  you  can- 
106 


THE   PATH   OF   MURTOGH 

not  do.  You  cannot  lay  your  finger  to  me 
because  I  come  on  the  business  of  God.* 

1  It  is  the  business  of  the  King  of  Spain 
that  I  will  be  thinking  of,'  said  Murty,  with 
curtness. 

1  They  are  the  same,'  rejoined  the  young 
priest.  '  And  you  are  wrong  to  say  what  you 
will  be  thinking  o^,  because  you  have  not  a 
mind  to  think  at  all.  If  you  could  think,  you 
would  know  that  you  cannot  have  the  words 
of  the  King  of  Spain  except  when  I  interpret 
them  to  you.  This  noble  gentleman  who 
comes  with  me  speaks  more  tongues  than 
one,  but  he  has  no  Irish,  and  you,  —  it  is  well 
known  that  you  have  nothing  else.  Don 
Tello  has  sat  at  your  side  for  two  hours,  and 
you  have  not  observed  that  each  word  be- 
tween him  and  you  came  and  went  through 
me.  Oh,  yes ;  you  are  a  great  man,  Murty, 
but  your  mind  is  not  of  a  high  order.' 

The  chieftain  rose  also.  The  blood  came 
into  his  face,  and  he  laid  a  strong  hand  on 

the  hilt  of   his  broad  sword.     But  the  foot 
107 


TALES   OF   OUR  COAST 

that  he  lifted  he  set  down  again;  and  he 
looked  at  his  kinsman,  the  Haitian  priest,  and 
did  not  move  towards  him.  *  You  are  in 
the  right  to  wear  a  gown,'  he  said  slowly, 
'because  you  have  the  tongue  and  the  evil 
temper  of  an  ugly  girl.  You  speak  foolish 
things  in  your  heat,  and  they  disgrace  you. 
I  have  the  best  mind  that  any  man  in  my 
family  ever  had.  I  have  more  thoughts  in 
my  mind  than  there  are  words  in  your  Latin 
book.  I  would  speak  whatever  I  chose  to 
this  gentleman,  and  I  would  understand  his 
speech  when  I  troubled  myself  to  do  so.  But 
I  will  not  do  that,  —  for  some  time  at  least ;  I 
will  have  my  wife  come,  and  she  will  sit  here, 
and  she  will  tell  me  his  words,  and  1  will  be 
taking  my  ease.' 

Murtogh  Mordha  called  his  son  to  his 
side,  and  gave  him  a  message  to  deliver. 

The  priest,  smiling  in  his  cold  way,  leant 
over  and  spoke  for  the  space  of  a  minute  in 
a  tongue  strange  to  Dunlogher  into  the 

Spaniard's  ear.     Then    he  stood  erect,  and 
1 08 


THE   PATH   OF   MURTOGH 

gazed  at  Murtogh  with  an  ill-omened  look, 
and  so  turned  and  strode  after  the  lad  out  of 
the  door. 

in 

A  young  woman  of  the  rarest  beauty,  tall 
and  slender,  and  with  the  carriage  of  a  great 
lady,  came  into  the  chamber  and  moved 
across  to  the  high,  carved  chair  which 
Murtogh  made  ready  for  her,  and  seated  her- 
self upon  it  as  upon  a  throne.  She  had  a 
pale  fair  skin,  and  her  hair,  coiled  heavily  in 
plaits  upon  her  shoulders,  was  of  the  hue  of 
a  red  harvest  sun.  There  were  jewels  in 
this  hair  and  upon  her  throat  and  hands,  and 
her  long  robes  were  of  rich  shining  stuffs. 
A  chain  of  wooden  beads,  with  a  cross  of 
gold  at  the  end,  hung  from  her  girdle,  and 
she  gathered  this  in  her  fingers  as  she  sat. 

The  boy,  Donogh  baoth,  came  with  her, 
and  crouched  in  humility  on  the  floor  at  her 
side.  His  thick  form  and  dark  hair,  and  his 

over-large  head,  spoke  a  likeness  now  to  his 
109 


father  which  was  not  to  be  noted  before. 
When,  as  if  under  the  spell  of  her  attraction, 
he  nestled  nearer  the  lady's  chair,  and 
touched  her  garment  with  his  hand,  she 
drew  it  away. 

Murtogh  Mordha,  before  he  took  his  seat 
again,  and  leant  back  to  half  lie  upon  the 
skins  thrown  over  it,  told  her  the  Spaniard's 
name,  and  explained  to  her  his  errand.  The 
Spaniard,  bowing  himself  low,  sank  upon  one 
knee,  and  reverently  kissed  her  hand,  as 
Murty  had  seen  his  father  kiss  the  ring  of  the 
Bishop  of  Ross.  He  was  proud  to  observe 
this,  because  his  wife  was  holier  and  more 
saintly  still  than  any  bishop. 

The  lady  smiled  upon  the  Spaniard,  and 
all  that  she  said  to  him,  and  he  to  her,  was 
in  his  tongue.  1 1  cannot  speak  it  well,'  she 
said.  Her  voice  had  the  sweetness  of  a 
perfume  in  the  air.  '  I  lived  at  Seville,  in 
the  old  convent  there,  for  only  two  years.  I 
have  no  joy  of  remembrance  now,  save  in  the 
peace  and  charm  of  those  years  there ;  but  I 

1 10 


THE   PATH   OF   MURTOGH 

fear  my  memory  of  the  dear  speech  is  dimmed. 
But  I  will  listen  with  all  my  ears,  —  and  oh,  so 
gladly!' 

She  fastened  her  regard  upon  his  eyes,  — 
the  great,  rolling,  midnight  eyes,  —  and  held 
it  there,  that  she  might  the  better  follow  his 
speech. 

*  Beautiful  lady,'  the  Spaniard  said,  *  I 
learn  only  now  the  power  our  language, 
spoken  by  such  lips,  may  have  to  enthrall 
the  hearing.  Condone  my  error,  I  pray  you, 
but  I  caught  from  Father  Donatus  that  you 
were  this  strong  chieftain's  wife,  and  I  see 
that  you  are  his  daughter ;  and  even  that  is 
strange,  to  look  upon  him  and_^?#.' 

'  I  am  his  wife,  but  only  in  name,  naught 
else,'  she  answered.  The  wave  of  compre- 
hension sweeping  over  the  surface  of  the 
Spaniard's  eyes  made  instant  confidence 
between  them.  '  I  am  in  captivity  here.  He 
is  a  pirate,  a  Goth,  a  murderous  barbarian. 
He  and  his  savages  here  —  but  of  this  more  a 
little  hence.  I  beg  you  now  to  speak  some- 


in 


TALES  OF  OUR   COAST 

thing  of  your  mission,  —  your  errand  here. 
He  is  as  helpless  to  follow  our  words  as  one 
of  those  hounds ;  but  no  dog  is  keener  to 
suspicion.' 

The  Spaniard,  with  eager  swiftness  of 
speech,  piled  one  upon  another  the  curtailed 
topics  of  his  business,  The  lady,  moving 
her  fingers  along  the  beads,  gleaned  the 
narrow  pith  of  it,  and  dressed  it  forth  in  new 
phrases  for  the  lord  of  Dunlogher. 

'  The  King  of  Spain  will  send  this  month] 
she  said  in  the  Irish, '  a  mighty  army  to  drive 
the  heretic  English  to  the  last  man  from  this 
Island  of  Saints.  They  have  wounded  God 
too  long!  The  last  drop  of  Heaven* s  patience 
is  dried  up  by  their  crimes.  Their  Queen 
was  not  born  in  lawful  wedlock,  and  the 
Blessed  Sacraments  are  daily  profaned  by  her 
and  her  accursed  people.  Those  who  sustain 
and  honour  God  now  will  be  sustained  and 
honoured  by  Him  through  glorious  Eternity! 

1  These  things  are  well  known  to  me/  said 
Murtogh.  '  J  would  not  need  the  King  of 

112 


THE   PATH   OF  MURTOGH 

Spain  to  tell  them  to  me.  How  will  he 
speak  concerning  myself?'  • 

The  lady  was  not  afraid  to  smile  into  the 
eyes  of  the  Spaniard.  '  You  are  to  speak 
after  a  moment  or  two,'  she  told  him,  with  a 
calm  voice ;  *  but  hear  me  this  little  first.  My 
heart  is  broken  here.  I  do  not  know  how  I 
have  had  the  courage  to  live.  These  jewels 
I  wear,  the  fabrics  of  my  raiment,  the  wines 
on  the  board  yonder,  are  all  the  booty  of 
blood-stained  waves  down  at  the  foot  of  this 
terrible  cliff.  He  and  his  savages  burn  false 
lights,  and  lure  ships  to  the  rocks,  and  rob 
and  murder  their  people.  It  was  thus  un- 
happily I  came  here,  and  in  fear  of  my  life^ 
while  I  was  still  half  dead  from  the  water,  I 
suffered  the  marriage  words  to  be  read  over 
me,  —  but  now  you  must  speak.' 

1 1  would  show  you  tears  rather  than 
words,  dear  lady,'  the  Spaniard  said ;  *  and 
blows  on  your  behalf  more  preferably  than 
either.  Father  Donatus  whispered  the  tithe 

of  this  to  me.     The  whole  truth  burns  like 
»  113 


TALES  OF  OUR  COAST 

fire  in  my  heart.  As  my  fathers  gave  their 
life  blood  to  drive  the  infidel  from  Grenada, 
—  so  I  lay  my  own  poor  life  at  your  dear 
feet.  If  aught  but  harm  to  you  could  come 
from  it,  I  would  slay  him  now  where  he  lolls 
there  on  the  skins.  He  is  looking  at  you 
now,  waiting  for  you  to  speak.' 

'  The  King  of  Spain  has  heard  much  of 
you?  she  began  in  the  Irish,  without  turning 
her  head.  '  He  is  filled  with  admiration  for 
your  strength  and  valour.  He  desires  deeply 
to  know  what  you  will  be  doing.  When  you 
will  take  arms,  and  join  him  with  your  great 
might  in  the  battles,  then  there  cannot  be  any 
doubt  of  his  victory! 

*  That  it  is  easy  to  see,'  replied  Murtogh. 
*  But  the  King  of  Spain's  battles  are  not  my 
battles.  There  would  be  some  reason  to  be 
given,  to  call  me  out  for  his  wars.  The 
English  will  be  doing  me  no  hurt.  They 
cannot  come  here  to  me,  by  water  or  by 
land ;  and  if  they  did  I  would  not  let  any  of 

them  depart  alive.     For  what  cause  should  I 

114 


THE   PATH   OF   MURTOGH 

go  to  them?  Let  the  King  of  Spain  tell  me 
what  it  would  be  in  his  mind  to  do  in  my 
behalf,  when  I  did  this  thing  for  him.' 

The  lady  spoke  to  the  Spaniard.  '  The 
last  of  my  people  are  killed.  They  would 
not  have  seemed  different  to  you  perhaps, 
—  to  you  who  were  bred  in  the  gentle  graces 
of  Spain,  —  but  they  were  not  the  ferocious 
barbarians  these  O'Mahonys  are.  My  father 
was  learned  in  Latin  and  English,  and  it  was 
his  dream  that  I  should  wed  in  Spain.' 

'  Oh,  rapturous  vision  ! '  said  Don  Tello, 
with  new  flames  kindling  in  his  eyes.  *  And 
if  it  shall  be  proved  prophetic  as  well,  beauti- 
ful lady  !  Something  of  this,  too,  the  priest 
whispered ;  but  the  precious  words  return  to 
me  as  your  dear  lips  breathed  them  forth,  — 
"  wife  only  in  name."  I  long  to  hear  them 
once  again.' 

The  lady  repeated  them,  with  tender 
deliberation,  and  a  languorous  gleam  in  her 
blue  eyes  began  to  answer  his  burning  gaze. 
4 1  have  held  the  fierce  beast  at  arm's  length,' 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

she  said,  '  because  he  is  also  a  fool.  I  would 
give  a  year  of  my  life  to  be  able  to  laugh  in 
his  face,  and  slap  these  beads  across  it.  I 
have  told  him  —  the  blessed  thought  came  to 
me  even  while  we  knelt  at  the  altar  together 
—  that  I  am  bound  by  a  vow.  His  big  empty 
head  is  open  to  all  the  fancies  that  fly.  He 
believes  that  an  enchanted  woman  drives  up 
her  horses  from  the  bottom  of  the  lake,  down 
at  the  foot  of  the  small  tower  here,  every 
night  for  food ;  and  he  spreads  corn  for  them 
which  the  thieves  about  him  fatten  on.  He 
believes  in  witches  rising  from  the  sea,  and 
leprechauns,  and  changelings,  like  any  igno- 
rant herdsman  out  in  the  bog,  but  he  is  a 
frightened  Churchman,  too.  He  believes 
that  I  am  a  saint !  * 

s  As  I  swear  by  the  grave  of  my  mother, 
you  are  I '  panted  Don  Tello.  4  But  speak 
now  to  him.' 

'  The  King  of  Spain  will  do  very  great 
things  in  your  behalf*  she  recited,  in  Murtogh's 

tongue.     '  He  will  make  you  of  the  rank  of  a 

116 


THE   PATH   OF   MURTOGH 
commander  in  his  armies,  and  he  will  ennoble 


'  I  am  noble  now,'  Murtogh  made  comment, 
'  as  noble  as  the  King  of  Spain  himself.  I 
am  not  a  MacCarthy  or  an  O'Driscoll,  that  I 
would  be  craving  titles  to  my  name.' 

6  Then  he  will  send  large  rich  ships  here,  ' 
she  began  again,  with  weariness  in  her  tone, 
'  to  bring  you  costly  presents.  And  the  Pope, 
he  will  grant  you  ten  years*  indulgence,  —  or  it 
may  be  twenty? 

'  Ask  him,'  broke  in  Murtogh,  sitting  up 
with  a  brightened  face,  his  hand  outstretched 
to  secure  silence  for  the  thought  that  stirred 
within  him,  —  '  ask  if  the  Holy  Father  would 
be  granting  just  the  one  spiritual  favour  I 
would  beg.  Will  this  gentleman  bind  the 
King  of  Spain  to  that  ?  ' 

4  And  may  I  wholly  trust,'  she  asked  the 
Spaniard,  with  half-closed  eyes,  through 
which  shone  the  invitation  of  her  mood, 
'  may  I  trust  in  your  knightly  proffer  of  help  ? 

Do  not  answer  till  I  have  finished.     You  are 
117 


TALES  OF  OUR  COAST 

the  first  who  has  come  to  me  —  here  in  this 
awful  dungeon  —  and  I  have  opened  my  heart 
to  you  as  perhaps  I  should  not.  But  you 
have  the  blood  of  youth  in  your  veins,  like 
me ;  you  are  gallant  and  of  high  lineage ; 
you  are  from  the  land  where  chivalry  is  the 
law  of  gentle  life,  —  is  it  true  that  you  will  be 
my  champion  ? ' 

The  Spaniard  rose  with  solemn  dignity, 
though  his  great  eyes  flashed  devouringly 
upon  her,  and  his  breast  heaved  under  its 
cuirass.  He  half  lifted  his  sword  from  the 
sheath,  and  kissed  the  cross  of  its  hilt.  '  Oh, 
my  beloved,  I  swear ! '  he  said,  in  sombre 
earnestness. 

She  translated  the  action  and  utterance 
to  Murtogh.  '  Whatever  of  a  spiritual  nature 
you  would  crave  of  his  Holiness  he  would 
grant* 

'  But  it  would  be  a  cruel  time  of  waiting, 
to  send  all  the  long  way  to  Rome  and  back.' 
he  objected,  'and  this  matter  lies  like  lead 

upon  my  soul.' 

118 


THE   PATH   OF   MURTOGH 

She  looked  up  into  the  Spaniard's  eyes, 
and  let  her  own  lashes  tremble,  and  fed  the 
ravening  conflagration  of  his  gaze  with  a 
little  sigh.  '  It  would  be  very  sweet  to 
believe/  she  murmured,  'too  sweet  for 
sense,  I  fear  me.  Nay,  Don  Tello,  I  need 
not  such  a  world  of  persuasion  —  only  —  only 
—  lift  your  right  hand,  with  thumb  and  twa 
fingers  out,  and  swear  again.  And  say, 
"  Bera,  I  swear  I  " ' 

1  It  is  your  name  ? '  he  asked,  and  as  she 
closed  her  eyes  in  assent,  and  slowly  opened 
them  to  behold  his  oath,  he  lifted  the  fingers 
and  waved  them  toward  her,  and  passionately 
whispered,  '  Bera,  queen  of  my  Heaven,  star 
of  my  soul,  I  swear!' 

'  That  is  the  sign  of  the  Pope  himself] 
she  explained,  with  indifference,  to  Murtogh. 
'  Whatever  wish  you  offered  up  you  have  it 
already  granted.  It  is  Don  Tello  who  bears 
the  holy  authority  from  the  Popel 

The   lord    of    Dunlogher   hurled    himself 

to  his  feet  with  a  boisterous  energy  before 
119 


TALES   OF   OUR   C^AST 

which  the  lady,  wondering,  drew  herself 
away.  He  stretched  his  bared  arms  towards 
her,  then  flung  them  upward  as  in  invocation 
to  the  skies.  The  beatitude  of  some  vast 
triumph  illumined  his  glance. 

'Oh,  then,  indeed,  I  am  Murty  Mordha!" 
he  cried.  '  It  is  I  who  am  prouder  than  all 
the  Kings  on  earth !  It  is  I  who  have  won 
my  love !  Oh,  glory  to  the  Heavens  that 
send  me  this  joy!  Glory  and  the  praise  of 
the  saints !  Glory !  Glory  J ' 

The  rhapsody  was  without  meaning  to  the 
Spaniard.  He  stared  in  astonishment  at  the 
big  chieftain  with  the  shining  countenance 
who  shouted  with  such  vehemence  up  at  the 
oaken  roof.  Turning  a  glance  of  inquiry  at 
the  lady,  he  saw  that  she  had  grown  white- 
faced,  and  was  cowering  backward  in  her 
chair. 

*  Our  Lady  save  us ! '  she  gasped  at  him 
in  Spanish.  '  He  has  asked  the  Pope  to 
absolve  me  from  my  vow.' 

Don  Tello,  no  wiser,  put  his  hand  to  his 
1 20 


THE   PATH   OF   MURTOGH 

sword.  *  Tell  me  quickly,  what  it  is  ?  What 
am  I  to  do  ? '  he  demanded  of  her. 

Murtogh,  with  a  smile  from  the  heart 
moistening  his  eyes  and  transfiguring  all  his 
face,  strode  to  the  Spaniard,  and  grasped  his 
reluctant  hand  between  his  own  broad  palms, 
and  gripped  it  with  the  fervour  of  a  giant. 

'  I  would  have  you  tell  him,'  he  called  out 
to  the  Lady  Bera.  *  Tell  him  that  he  has 
no  other  friend  in  any  land  who  will  do  for 
him  what  Murty  Mordha  will  be  doing.  I 
will  ride  with  him  into  the  battle,  and  take 
all  his  blows  on  my  own  back.  I  will  call 
him  my  son  and  my  brother.  Whatever  he 
will  wish,  I  will  give  it  to  him,  And  all  his 
enemies  I  will  slay  and  put  down  for  him  to 
walk  upon.  Oh,  Bera,  the  jewel  restored  to 
me,  the  beautiful  gem  I  saved  from  the 
waters,  tell  him  these  things  forme!  Why. 
will  your  lips  be  so  silent  ?  Would  they  be 
waiting  for  my  kisses  to  waken  them  ?  And 
Donogh,  son  of  mine,  come  hither  and  take 

my  other  son's  hand.     I  will  hear  you  swear 
121 


TALES   OF   OUR  COAST 

to  keep  my  loyalty  to  him  the  same  as  myself. 
And,  Owny  Hea,  —  hither,  man !  You  can- 
not see  my  benefactor,  the  man  I  will  be 
giving  my  life  for,  but  you  have  heard  his 
voice.  You  will  not  forget  it/ 

The  absence  of  all  other  sound  of  a  sudden 
caught  Murtogh's  ear,  and  checked  his  flow 
of  joyous  words.  He  looked  with  bewilder- 
ment at  the  figure  of  his  wife  in  the  chair, 
motionless  with  clenched  hands  on  her  knees, 
and  eyes  fixed  in  a  dazed  stare  upon  vacancy, 
He  turned  again,  and  noted  that  Owny  Hea 
had  come  up  to  the  Spaniard,  and  was  stand- 
ing before  him  so  close  that  their  faces  were 
near  touching. 

The  old  blind  man  had  the  smile  of  an 
infant  on  his  withered  face.  He  lifted  his 
left  hand  to  the  Spaniard's  breast  and  passed 
it  curiously  over  the  corselet  and  its  throat- 
plate  and  arm-holes,  muttering  in  Irish  to 
himself,  '  I  will  not  forget.  I  will  not  at  all 
forget.' 

A  zigzag  flash  of  light  darted  briefly  some- 
122 


THE   PATH   OF   MURTOGH 

where  across  Murtogh's  vision.  Looking 
with  more  intentness  he  saw  that  both  the 
blind  man's  hands  were  at  the  arm-pit  of 
the  Spaniard,  and  pulled  upon  something 
not  visible.  Don  Tello's  big  eyes  seemed 
bursting  from  their  black-fringed  sockets. 
His  face  was  distorted,  and  he  curled  the 
fingers  of  his  hand  like  stiffened  talons,  and 
clawed  once  into  the  air  with  them.  Then 
Owny  Hea  pushed  him,  and  he  pitched 
sprawling  against  Murtogh's  legs,  and  rolled 
inert  to  the  floor.  His  hot  blood  washed 
over  Murtogh's  sandalled  feet. 

A  woman's  shriek  of  horror  burst  into 
the  air,  and  the  hounds  moaned  and  glided 
forward.  Murtogh  did  not  know  why  he 
stood  so  still.  He  could  not  rightly  think 
upon  what  was  happening,  or  put  his  mind 
to  it.  The  bones  in  his  arms  were  chilled, 
and  would  not  move  for  him.  He  gazed 
with  round  eyes  at  Owny,  and  at  the  red 
dripping  knife  which  the  bard  stretched  out 

to  him.     He  felt  the  rough  tongue  of  a  dog 
123 


TALES   OF   OUR  COAST 

on  his  ankle.  The  dark  corners  of  the 
chamber  seemed  to  be  moving  from  him  a 
long  distance  away.  There  was  a  spell 
upon  him,  and  he  could  not  tremble. 

The  voice  of  Owny  Hea  came  to  him, 
and  though  it  was  soundless,  like  the  speech 
of  Dreamland,  he  heard  all  its  words ;  '  Mur- 
togh  son  of  Teige,  I  have  slain  your  guest 
for  the  reason  that  I  have  the  Spanish,  and 
I  knew  the  meaning  of  his  words  to  this 
woman,  and  he  could  not  live  any  longer. 
The  liathan  priest,  when  he  would  be  going, 
told  this  stranger  that  she  you  called  your 
wife  was  your  enemy,  and  made  a  mockery 
of  you,  and  would  give  ear  gladly  to  any 
means  of  dishonouring  you.  And  the  lia- 
than priest  spoke  truly.  While  the  woman 
repeated  lies  to  you  of  the  King  of  Spain 
and  the  Pope,  she  whispered  foul  scandal 
of  you,  and  wicked  love-words  to  that  dog's- 
meat  at  your  feet.  It  is  I,  Owen  son  of 
Aodh,  who  tell  you  these  things.  And  now 

you  know  what  you  have  to  do  1s 

124 


THE   PATH   OF   MURTOGH 

Murtogh  turned  slowly  to  the  lady.  She 
lay,  without  motion,  in  her  chair,  her  head 
limp  upon  her  shoulder,  and  the  whiteness 
of  sea  foam  on  her  cheek.  Thoughts  came 
again  into  his  brain. 

*  I    have    the   wisest    mind   of  all    in    my 
family,'  he  said ;  '  I  know  what  it  is   I  will 
be  doing.' 

He  drew  the  short  sword  from  his  girdle, 
and  put  his  nail  along  its  edge. 

*  Donogh  baoth',    he  said  to  his  son,  *  go 
below  and   seek  out  Conogher  tuathal  and 
Shane  buidhe,  and  bid  them  seize  the  liathan 
priest  between  them,  and  bring  him  to  me 
here  where  L  am.     And  you  will  take  some 
sleep  for  yourself  then,  for  it  is  a  late  hour.' 

The  lad  looked  at  the  pale  lady  with  the 
closed  eyes,  and  at  the  sword  in  his  father's 
hand.  He  set  his  teeth  together,  and  lifted 
his  head. 

1 1  am  of  years  enough  to  see  it  all,'  he 
said.  '  I  have  no  sleep  on  my  eyes.' 

Murtogh  bent  over  the  corpse  at  his  feet, 
125 


TALES   OF   OUR  COAST 

and  caressed  the  boy's  head  with  his  hand. 
'  I  will  not  call  you  baoth  (simple)  any  more,' 
he  said,  fondly.  '  You  are  my  true  son,  and 
here  is  my  ring  for  your  finger,  and  you 
may  return  with  them  when  they  fetch  me 
my  liathan  cousin.' 

IV 

Next  morning  young  Donogh  gave  his 
word  to  the  men  of  Dunlogher,  and  they 
obeyed  him,  for  in  the  one  night  he  had 
thrown  aside  his  sluggish  boyhood,  and  they 
saw  his  father's  ring  on  his  finger,  and  heard 
a  good  authority  in  his  voice.  They  came 
out  from  the  Western  gate  at  his  command, 
three-score  and  more,  and  stood  from  the 
brink  of  the  cliff  inward,  with  their  weapons 
in  their  hands,  and  made  a  path  between 
them.  But  the  women  and  children  Donogh 
bade  remain  within  the  bawn,  and  he  shut 
the  inner  gate  upon  them.  It  was  as  if  the 
smell  of  blood  came  to  them  there,  for  the 

old  women  put  up  a  lamentation  of  death, 

126 


THE   PATH   OF   MURTOGH 

and  the  others  cried  aloud,  till  the  noise 
spread  to  the  men  on  the  cliff.  These 
looked  one  to  another  and  held  their 
silence. 

They  did  not  clash  their  spears  together 
when,  after  a  long  waiting,  Murtogh  came 
from  the  gate,  and  walked  toward  them.  A 
fine  rain  was  in  the  air,  and  the  skies  and 
sea  were  grey,  and  the  troubled  man  would 
have  no  spirit  for  such  greeting. 

He  bore  upon  his  broad  back  a  great 
shapeless  bundle  thrice  his  own  bulk.  The 
weight  of  it  bent  his  body,  and  swayed  his 
footsteps  as  he  came.  The  cover  of  it  was 
of  skins  of  wild  beasts,  sewn  rudely  with 
thongs,  and  through  the  gaps  in  this  cover 
some  of  the  men  saw  stained  foreign  cloths 
and  the  plume  of  a  hat,  and  some  a  shoe 
with  a  priest's  buckle,  and  some  the  marble 
hand  of  a  fair  woman.  But  no  word  was 
spoken,  and  Murtogh,  coming  to  the  edge, 
heaved  his  huge  shoulders  upward,  and  the 

bundle  leaped  out  of  sight. 
127 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

Then  Murtogh  turned  and  looked  all  his 
fighting-men  in  their  faces,  and  smiled  in 
gentleness  upon  them,  and  they  saw  that  in 
that  same  night,  while  the  '  little  people '  had 
changed  Donogh  into  a  man,  they  had  made 
Murtogh  a  child  again. 

'  She  came  up  from  the  water,'  he  said  to 
them,  in  a  voice  no  man  knew.  '  It  was  I 
who  brought  her  out  of  the  water,  and 
fought  for  her  with  the  demons  under  the 
rocks,  and  beat  all  of  them  off.  But  one  of 
them  I  did  not  make  the  sign  of  the  Cross 
before,  and  that  one  is  the  King  of  Spain ; 
and  so  he  has  wrought  me  this  mischief,  and 
made  all  my  labour  as  nothing ;  and  she  is 
in  the  water  again,  and  I  must  be  going  to 
fetch  her  out  rightly  this  time.' 

Murtogh  sprang  like  a  deer  into  the  air, 
with  a  mighty  bound  which  bore  him  far 
over  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  Some  there  were, 
in  the  throng  that  sprang  forward,  agile 
enough  to  be  looking  down  the  abyss  before 

his  descent  was  finished.      These,  to  their 
128 


THE   PATH   OF  MURTOGH 

amazement,  beheld  a  miracle.  For  the  great 
fall  did  not  kill  Murtogh  Mordha,  but  the 
waters  boiled  and  rose  to  meet  him,  and 
held  him  up  on  their  tossing  currents  as 
he  swam  forward,  and  marked  with  a  pallid 
breadth  of  foam  his  path  out  to  sea,  farther 
and  farther  out,  till  the  mists  hid  him  from 
human  view. 

The  wailing  song  of  Owny  Hea  rose 
through  the  wet  air  above  the  keening  of  the 
women  in  the  bawn.  But  louder  still  was 
the  voice  of  the  lad  who  wore  his  father's 
ring,  and  drew  now  from  beneath  his  mantle 
his  father's  sword. 

*  I  am  Donogh  son  of  Murtogh  Mordha!* 
he  shouted,  *  and  I  am  Lord  in  Dur.  ogher, 
and  when  I  am  of  my  full  strength  I  will  kill 
the  King  of  Spain,  and  give  his  castles  and 
all  his  lands  and  herds  and  women  to  you 
for  your  ownl' 

The  three  towers  of  Dunlogher  are  broken, 

and  the  witch  has  fled  from  its  grey  lake, 
9  129 


TALES  OF  OUR  COAST 

and  no  man  knows  where  the  bones  of 
its  forgotten  sept  are  buried.  But  the  evil 
currents  will  never  tire  of  writhing,  and  the 
shadows  which  are  no  shadows  are  for- 
ever changing,  in  the  Path  of  Murty  the 
Proud. 


130 


THE  ROLL-CALL  OF  THE  REEF 
BY  Q 


THE    ROLL-CALL   OF   THE   REEF. 

'  YES,  sir,'  said  my  host  the  quarryman, 
reaching  down  the  relics  from  their  hook  in 
the  wall  over  the  chimney-piece ;  '  they  Ve 
hung  here  all  my  time,  and  most  of  my 
father's.  The  women  won't  touch  'em; 
they  're  afraid  of  the  story.  So  here  they  '11 
dangle,  and  gather  dust  and  smoke,  till 
another  tenant  comes  and  tosses  'em  out 
o'  doors  for  rubbish.  Whew!  'tis  coarse 
weather.' 

He  went  to  the  door,  opened  it,  and  stood 
studying  the  gale  that  beat  upon  his  cottage- 
front,  straight  from  the  Manacle  Reef.  The 
rain  drove  past  him  into  the  kitchen,  aslant 
like  threads  of  gold  silk  in  the  shine  of  the 
wreck-wood  fire.  Meanwhile,  by  the  same 

firelight,  I  examined  the  relics  on  my  knee. 
i33 


TALES  OF  OUR  COAST 

The  metal  of  each  was  tarnished  out  ot 
knowledge.  But  the  trumpet  was  evidently 
an  old  cavalry  trumpet,  and  the  threads  of 
its  parti-coloured  sling,  though  frayed  and 
dusty,  still  hung  together.  Around  the  side- 
drum,  beneath  its  cracked  brown  varnish,  I 
could  hardly  trace  a  royal  coat-of-arms  and  a 
legend  running  —  Per  Mare  Per  Terram  — 
the  motto  of  the  Marines.  Its  parchment, 
though  coloured  and  scerited  with  wood- 
smoke,  was  limp  and  mildewed ;  and  I  began 
to  tighten  up  the  straps  —  unde*  which  the 
drumsticks  had  been  loosely  thrust  —  with 
the  idle  purpose  of  trying  if  some  music 
might  be  got  out  of  the  old  drum  yet. 

But  as  I  turned  it  on  my  knee,  I  found  the 
drum  attached  to  the  trumpet-sling  by  a 
curious  barrel-shaped  padlock,  and  paused 
to  examine  this.  The  body  of  the  lock  was 
composed  of  half-a-dozen  brass  rings,  set 
accurately  edge  to  edge;  and,  rubbing  the 
brass  with  my  thumb,  I  saw  that  each  of  the 

six  had  a  series  of  letters  engraved  around  it, 

134 


ROLL-CALL  OF  THE   REEF 

I  knew  the  trick  of  it,  I  thought.  Here 
was  one  of  those  word  padlocks,  once  so 
common ;  only  to  be  opened  by  getting  the 
rings  to  spell  a  certain  word,  which  the 
dealer  confides  to  you. 

My  host  shut  and  barred  the  door,  and 
came  back  to  the  hearth. 

1  'T  was  just  such  a  wind  —  east  by  south 
—  that  brought  in  what  you  've  got  between 
your  hands.  Back  in  the  year  'nine,  it  was ; 
my  father  has  told  me  the  tale  a  score  o' 
times.  You  're  twisting  round  the  rings,  I 
see.  But  you'll  never  guess  the  word. 
Parson  Kendall,  he  made  the  word,  and 
locked  down  a  couple  o'  ghosts  in  their 
graves  with  it ;  and  when  his  time  came, 
he  went  to  his  own  grave  and  took  the 
word  with  him.' 

4  Whose  ghosts,  Matthew  ? ' 

'You  want  the  story,  I  see,  sir.  My 
father  could  tell  it  better  than  I  can.  He 
was  a  young  man  in  the  year  'nine,  un- 
married at  the  time,  and  living  in  this  very 
13-5 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

cottage,  just  as  I  be.  That 's  how  he  came 
to  get  mixed  up  with  the  tale.' 

He  took  a  chair,  lit  a  short  pipe,  and  went 
on,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  dancing  violet 
flames :  — 

'  Yes,  he  'd  ha'  been  about  thirty  years  old 
in  January,  of  the  year  'nine.  The  storm  got 
up  in  the  night  o'  the  twenty-first  o'  that 
month.  My  father  was  dressed  and  out,  long 
before  daylight;  he  never  was  one  to  'bide 
in  bed,  let  be  that  the  gale  by  this  time  was 
pretty  near  lifting  the  thatch  over  his  head. 
Besides  which,  he'd  fenced  a  small  'taty- 
patch  that  winter,  down  by  Lowland  Point, 
and  he  wanted  to  see  if  it  stood  the  night's 
work.  He  took  the  path  across  Gunner's 
Meadow  —  where  they  buried  most  of  the 
bodies  afterwards.  The  wind  was  right  in 
his  teeth  at  the  time,  and  once  on  the  way 
(he 's  told  me  this  often)  a  great  strip  of  ore- 
weed  came  flying  through  the  darkness  and 
fetched  him  a  slap  on  the  cheek  like  a 

cold  hand.     But  he  made  shift  pretty  well 
136 


ROLL-CALL  OF  THE  REEF 

till  he  got  to  Lowland,  and  then  had  to  drop 
upon  hands  and  knees  and  crawl,  digging  his 
fingers  every  now  and  then  into  the  shingle 
to  hold  on,  for  he  declared  to  me  that  the 
stones,  some  of  them  as  big  as  a  man's  head, 
kept  rolling  and  driving  past  till  it  seemed  the 
•whole  foreshore  was  moving  westward  under 
him.  The  fence  was  gone,  of  course  ;  not  a 
stick  left  to  show  where  it  stood;  so  that, 
when  first  he  came  to  the  place,  he  thought 
he  must  have  missed  his  bearings.  My 
father,  sir,  was  a  very  religious  man ;  and  if 
he  reckoned  the  end  of  the  world  was  at  hand 
—  there  in  the  great  wind  and  night,  among 
the  moving  stones  —  you  may  believe  he  was 
certain  of  it  when  he  heard  a  gun  fired,  and, 
with  the  same,  saw  a  flame  shoot  up  out  of 
the  darkness  to  windward,  making  a  sudden 
fierce  light  in  all  the  place  about.  All  he 
could  find  to  think  or  say  was,  "  The  Second 
Coming  —  The  Second  Coming !  The  Bride- 
groom cometh,  and  the  wicked  He  will  toss 

like  a  ball  into  a  large  country !  "  and  being 
137 


TALES   OF   OUR  COAST 

already  upon  his  knees,  he  just  bowed  his 
head  and  'bided,  saying  this  over  and  over. 

1  But  by  'm-by,  between  two  squalls,  he 
made  bold  to  lift  his  head  and  look,  and  then 
by  the  light  —  a  bluish  colour  't  was  —  he  saw 
all  trie  coast  clear  away  to  Manacle  Point, 
and  off  the  Manacles,  in  the  thick  of  the 
weather,  a  sloop-of-war  with  top-gallants 
housed  driving  stern  foremost  towards  the 
reef.  It  was  she,  of  course,  that  was  burning 
the  flare.  My  father  could  see  the  white 
streak  and  the  ports  of  her  quite  plain  as  she 
rose  to  it,  a  little  outside  the  breakers,  and 
he  guessed  easy  enough  that  her  captain  had 
just  managed  to  wear  ship,  and  was  trying  to 
force  her  nose  to  the  sea  with  the  help  of  her 
small  bower  anchor  and  the  scrap  or  two  of 
canvas  that  had  n't  yet  been  blown  out  of  her. 
But  while  he  looked,  she  fell  off,  giving  her 
broadside  to  it  foot  by  foot,  and  drifting  back 
on  the  breakers  around  Carn  du  and  the 
Varses.  The  rocks  lie  so  thick  thereabouts, 

that  't  was  a  toss  up  which  she  struck  first ; 
138 


ROLL-CALL  OF  THE   REE? 

at  any  rate,  my  father  could  n't  tell  at  the 
time,  for  just  then  the  flare  died  down  and 
went  out. 

1  Well,  sir,  he  turned  then  in  the  dark  and 
started  back  for  Coverack  to  cry  the  dismal 
tidings  —  though  well  knowing  ship  and  crew 
to  be  past  any  hope ;  and  as  he  turned,  the 
wind  lifted  him  and  tossed  him  forward  "like 
a  ball,"  as  he  'd  been  saying,  and  homeward 
along  the  foreshore.  As  you  know,  't  is  ugly 
work,  even  by  daylight,  picking  your  way 
among  the  stones  there,  and  my  father  was 
prettily  knocked  about  at  first  in  the  dark. 
But  by  this  'twas  nearer  seven  than  six 
o'clock,  and  the  day  spreading.  By  the 
time  he  reached  North  Corner,  a  man  could 
see  to  read  print ;  hows'ever,  he  looked 
neither  out  to  sea  nor  towards  Coverack,  but 
headed  straight  for  the  first  cottage  —  the 
same  that  stands  above  North  Corner  to-day. 
A  man  named  Billy  Ede  lived  there  then, 
and  when  my  father  burst  into  the  kitchen 
bawling,  "  Wreck  !  wreck !  "  he  saw  Billy 

139 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

Ede's  wife,  Ann,  standing  there  in  her  clogs, 
with  a  shawl  thrown  over  her  head,  and  her 
clothes  wringing  wet. 

' "  Save  the  chap !  "  says  Billy  Ede's  wife, 
Ann.  "  What  d'  'ee  mean  by  crying  stale  fish 
at  that  rate  ?  " 

'"But  'tis  a  wreck,  I  tell  'ee.  I've 
a-zeed  'n ! " 

* "  Why,  so  't  is,"  says  she,  "  and  I  've 
a-zeed  'n,  too ;  and  so  has  everyone  with  an 
eye  in  his  head." 

'  And  with  that  she  pointed  straight  over 
my  father's  shoulder,  and  he  turned ;  and 
there,  close  under  Dolor  Point,  at  the  end  of 
Coverack  town,  he  saw  another  wreck 
washing,  and  the  point  black  with  people 
like  emmets,  running  to  and  fro  in  the  morn- 
ing light.  While  he  stood  staring  at  her,  he 
heard  a  trumpet  sounded  on  board,  the  notes 
coming  in  little  jerks,  like  a  bird  rising 
against  the  wind ;  but  faintly,  of  course, 
because  of  the  distance  and  the  gale  blowing 

—  though  this  had  dropped  a  little. 
140 


ROLL-CALL   OF  THE   REEF 

' "  She  's  a  transport,"  said  Billy  Ede's 
wife,  Ann,  "  and  full  of  horse  soldiers,  fine 
long  men.  When  she  struck  they  must  ha' 
pitched  the  hosses  over  first  to  lighten  the 
ship,  for  a  score  of  dead  hosses  had  washed 
in  afore  I  left,  half-an-hour  back.  An'  three 
or  four  soldiers,  too  —  fine  long  corpses  in 
white  breeches  and  jackets  of  blue  and  gold. 
I  held  the  lantern  to  one.  Such  a  straight 
young  man." 

'  My  father  asked  her  about  the  trumpet- 
ing. 

' "  That 's  the  queerest  bit  of  all.  She 
was  burnin'  a  light  when  me  an'  my  man 
joined  the  crowd  down  there.  All  her  masts 
had  gone ;  whether  they  were  carried  away,  or 
were  cut  away  to  ease  her,  I  don't  rightly 
know.  Anyway,  there  she  lay  'pon  the  rocks 
with  her  decks  bare.  Her  keelson  was  broke 
under  her  and  her  bottom  sagged  and  stove, 
and  she  had  just  settled  down  like  a  sitting 
hen  — just  the  leastest  list  to  starboard  ;  but 

a   man    could  stand  there  easy.     They  had 
141 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

rigged  up  ropes  across  her,  from  bulwark  to 
bulwark,  an'  beside  these  the  men  were  mus- 
tered, holding  on  like  grim  death  whenever 
the  sea  made  a  clean  breach  over  them,  an' 
standing  up  like  heroes  as  soon  as  it  passed. 
The  captain  an'  the  officers  were  clinging  to 
the  rail  of  the  quarter-deck,  all  in  their  golden 
uniforms,  waiting  for  the  end  as  if  't  was  King 
George  they  expected.  There  was  no  way 
to  help,  for  she  lay  right  beyond  cast  of  line, 
though  our  folk  tried  it  fifty  times.  And 
beside  them  clung  a  trumpeter,  a  whacking 
big  man,  an'  between  the  heavy  seas  he 
would  lift  his  trumpet  with  one  hand,  and 
blow  a  call;  and  every  time  he  blew,  the 
men  gave  a  cheer.  There  (she  says)  —  hark 
'ee  now  —  there  he  goes  agen !  But  you 
won't  hear  no  cheering  any  more,  for  few  are 
left  to  cheer,  and  their  voices  weak.  Bitter 
cold  the  wind  is,  and  I  reckon  it  numbs  their 
grip  o*  the  ropes ;  for  they  were  dropping  off 
fast  with  every  sea  when  my  man  sent  me 

home  to  get  his  breakfast.     Another  wreck, 
142 


ROLL-CALL  OF  THE   REEF 

you  say  ?  Well,  there 's  no  hope  for  the 
tender  dears,  if  't  is  the  Manacles.  You  'd 
better  run  down  and  help  yonder ;  though 
't  is  little  help  any  man  can  give.  Not  one 
came  in  alive  while  I  was  there.  The  tide  's 
flowing,  an'  she  won't  hold  together  another 
hour,  they  say." 

'  Well,  sure  enough,  the  end  was  coming 
fast  when  my  father  got  down  to  the  point. 
Six  men  had  been  cast  up  alive,  or  just 
breathing  —  a  seaman  and  five  troopers.  The 
seaman  was  the  only  one  that  had  breath  to 
speak ;  and  while  they  were  carrying  him 
into  the  town,  the  word  went  round  that  the 
ship's  name  was  the  Despatch,  transport, 
homeward  bound  from  Corunna,  with  a  de- 
tachment of  the  yth  Hussars,  that  had  been 
fighting  out  there  with  Sir  John  Moore. 
The  seas  had  rolled  her  further  over  by  this 
time,  and  given  her  decks  a  pretty  sharp 
slope ;  but  a  dozen  men  still  held  on,  seven 
by  the  ropes  near  the  ship's  waist,  a  couple 
near  the  break  of  the  poop,  and  three  on  the 
143 


TALES  OF  OUR  COAST 

quarter-deck.  Of  these  three  my  father 
made  out  one  to  be  the  skipper;  close  by 
him  clung  an  officer  in  full  regimentals  —  his 
name,  they  heard  after,  was  Captain  Duncan- 
field  ;  and  last  came  the  tall  trumpeter ;  and 
if  you  '11  believe  me,  the  fellow  was  making 
shift  there,  at  the  very  last,  to  blow  "  God 
save  the  King."  What 's  more,  he  got  to 
"  Send  us  victorious,"  before  an  extra  big  sea 
came  bursting  across  and  washed  them  off 
the  deck  —  every  man  but  one  of  the  pair 
beneath  the  poop  —  and  he  dropped  his  hold 
before  the  next  wave ;  being  stunned,  I 
reckon.  The  others  went  out  of  sight  at 
once ;  but  the  trumpeter  —  being,  as  I  said,  a 
powerful  man  as  well  as  a  tough  swimmer  — 
rose  like  a  duck,  rode  out  a  couple  of  breakers, 
and  came  in  on  the  crest  of  the  third.  The 
folks  looked  to  see  him  broke  like  an  egg  at 
their  very  feet ;  but  when  the  smother  cleared, 
there  he  was,  lying  face  downward  on  a  ledge 
below  them  ;  and  one  of  the  men  that  hap- 
pened to  have  a  rope  round  him  —  I  forget 
144 


ROLL-CALL   OF  THE   REEF 

the  fellow's  name,  if  I  ever  heard  it  —  jumped 
down  and  grabbed  him  by  the  ankle  as  he 
began  to  slip  back.  Before  the  next  big  sea, 
the  pair  were  hauled  high  enough  to  be  out 
of  harm,  and  another  heave  brought  them  up 
to  grass.  Quick  work,  but  master  trumpeter 
was  n't  quite  dead ;  nothing  worse  than  a 
cracked  head  and  three  staved  ribs.  In 
twenty  minutes  or  so  they  had  him  in  bed, 
with  the  doctor  to  tend  him. 

'  Now  was  the  time  —  nothing  being  left 
alive  upon  the  transport  —  for  my  father  to  tell 
of  the  sloop  he  'd  seen  driving  upon  the  Mana- 
cles. And  when  he  got  a  hearing,  though  the 
most  were  set  upon  salvage,  and  believed  a 
wreck  in  the  hand,  so  to  say,  to  be  worth 
half-a-dozen  they  could  n't  see,  a  good  few 
volunteered  to  start  off  with  him  and  have  a 
look.  They  crossed  Lowland  Point;  no 
ship  to  be  seen  on  the  Manacles,  nor  any- 
where upon  the  sea.  One  or  two  was  for 
calling  my  father  a  liar.  "  Wait  till  we  come 


10 


145 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

to  Dean  Point,"  said  he.  Sure  enough  on 
the  far  side  of  Dean  Point  they  found  the 
sloop's  mainmast  washing  about  with  half-a- 
dozen  men  lashed  to  it,  men  in  red  jackets, 
every  mother's  son  drowned  and  staring ; 
and  a  little  further  on,  just  under  the  Dean, 
three  or  four  bodies  cast  up  on  the  shore, 
one  of  them  a  small  drummer-boy,  side-drum 
and  all ;  and,  near  by,  part  of  a  ship's  gig, 
with  H.  M.  S.  Primrose  cut  on  the  stern- 
board.  From  this  point  on,  the  shore  was 
littered  thick  with  wreckage  and  dead  bodies, 
—  the  most  of  them  Marines  in  uniform ;  and 
in  Godrevy  Cove,  in  particular,  a  heap  of 
furniture  from  the  captain's  cabin,  and 
amongst  it  a  water-tight  box,  not  much 
damaged,  and  full  of  papers,  by  which,  when 
it  came  to  be  examined,  next  day,  the  wreck 
was  easily  made  out  to  be  the  Primrose,  of 
eighteen  guns,  outward  bound  from  Ports- 
mouth, with  a  fleet  of  transports  for  the 
Spanish  War,  thirty  sail,  I  Ve  heard,  but  I  Ve 

never  heard  what  became  of  them.     Being 
146 


ROLL-CALL   OF  THE   REEF 

handled  by  merchant  skippers,  no  doubt  they 
rode  out  the  gale,  and  reached  the  Tagus 
safe  and  sound.  Not  but  what  the  Captain 
of  the  Primrose  (Mein  was  his  name)  did 
quite  right  to  try  and  club-haul  his  vessel 
when  he  found  himself  under  the  land ;  only 
he  never  ought  to  have  got  there,  if  he  took 
proper  soundings.  But  it 's  easy  talking. 

*  The  Primrose,  sir,  was  a  handsome  vessel 
—  for  her  size,  one  of  the  handsomest  in 
the  King's  service  —  and  newly  fitted  out 
at  Plymouth  Dock.  So  the  boys  had  brave 
pickings  from  her  in  the  way  of  brass-work, 
ship's  instruments,  and  'the  like,  let  alone 
some  barrels  of  stores  not  much  spoiled. 
They  loaded  themselves  with  as  much  as 
they  could  carry,  and  started  for  home, 
meaning  to  make  a  second  journey  before 
the  preventive  men  got  wind  of  their  doings, 
and  came  to  spoil  the  fun.  But  as  my 
father  was  passing  back  under  the  Dean,  he 
happened  to  take  a  look  over  his  shoulder  at 

the  bodies  there.      "  Hullo  \  "   says  he,  and 
147 


TALES   OF  OUR  COAST 

dropped  his  gear,  "  I  do  believe  there 's  a  leg 
moving! ".and  running  fore,  he  stooped  over 
the  small  drummer-boy  that  I  told  you  about. 
The  poor  little  chap  was  lying  there,  with 
his  face  a  mass  of  bruises,  and  his  eyes  closed 
—  but  he  had  shifted  one  leg  an  inch  or 
two,  -and  was  still  breathing.  So  my  father 
pulled  out  a  knife,  and  cut  him  free  from  his 
drum  —  that  was  lashed  on  to  him  with  a 
double  turn  of  Manilla  rope  —  and  took  him 
up  and  carried  him  along  here,  to  this  very 
room  that  we  're  sitting  in.  He  lost  a  good 
deal  by  this ;  for  when  he  went  back  to  fetch 
the  bundle  he'd  dropped,  the  preventive 
men  had  got  hold  of  it,  and  were  thick  as 
thieves  along  the  foreshore ;  so  that  't  was 
only  by  paying  one  or  two  to  look  the  other 
way  that  he  picked  up  anything  worth  carry- 
ing off  —  which  you  '11  allow  to  be  hard,  see- 
ing that  he  was  the  first  man  to  give  news  of 
the  wreck. 

'  Well,  the  inquiry  was  held,  of  course,  and 

my  father  gave  evidence,  and  for  the  rest 
148 


ROLL-CALL  OF  THE   REEF 

they  had  to  trust  to  the  sloop's  papers,  for 
not  a  soul  was  saved  besides  the  drummer- 
boy,  and  he  was  raving  in  a  fever,  brought 
on  by  the  cold  and  the  fright.  And  the 
seaman  and  the  five  troopers  gave  evidence 
about  the  loss  of  the  Despatch,  The  tall 
trumpeter,  too,  whose  ribs  were  healing,  came 
forward  and  kissed  the  Book ;  but  some- 
how his  head  had  been  hurt  in  coming 
ashore,  and  he  talked  foolish-like,  and  't  was 
easy  seen  he  would  never  be  a  proper  man 
again.  The  others  were  taken  up  to  Ply- 
mouth, and  so  went  their  ways ;  but  the 
trumpeter  stayed  on  in  Coverack ;  .and  King 
George,  finding  he  was  fit  for  nothing,  sent 
him  down  a  trifle  of  a  pension  after  a  while 
—  enough  to  keep  him  in  board  and  lodging, 
with  a  bit  of  tobacco  over.  * 

*  Now  the  first  time  that  this  man  — 
William  Tallifer  he  called  himself  —  met 
with  the  drummer-boy  was  about  a  fortnight 
after  the  little  chap  had  bettered  enough  to 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

be  allowed  a  short  walk  out  of  doors,  which 
he  .took,  if  you  please,  in  full  regimentals. 
There  never  was  a  soldier  so  proud  of  his 
dress.  His  own  suit  had  shrunk  a  brave 
bit  with  the  salt  water;  but  into  ordinary 
frock  an'  corduroys  he  declared  he  would 
not  get,  not  if  he  had  to  go  naked  the  rest 
of  his  life ;  so  my  father  —  being  a  good- 
natured  man,  and  handy  with  the  needle  — 
turned  to  and  repaired  damages  with  a  piece 
or  two  of  scarlet  cloth  cut  from  the  jacket 
of  one  of  the  drowned  Marines.  Well,  the 
poor  little  chap  chanced  to  be  standing,  in 
this  rig  out,  down  by  the  gate  of  Gunner's 
Meadow,  where  they  had  buried  two  score 
and  over  of  his  comrades.  The  morning 
was  a  fine  one,  early  in  March  month ;  and 
along  came  the  cracked  trumpeter,  likewise 
taking  a  stroll. 

' "  Hullo !  "  says  he ;  "  good  mornin' !  And 
what  might  you  be  doin'  here  ?  " 

* "  I  was  a-wishin',"  says  the  boy,  "  I  had 

a  pair  o'  drum-sticks.     Our  lads  were  buried 

152 


ROLL-CALL   OF   THE   REEF 

yonder  without  so  much  as  a  drum  tapped 
or  a  musket  fired ;  and  that 's  not  Christian 
burial  for  British  soldiers." 

4  "  Phut !  "  says  the  trumpeter,  and  spat 
on  the  ground ;  "  a  parcel  of  Marines  !  " 

4  The  boy  eyed  him  a  second  or  so,  and 
answered  up :  "If  I  'd  a  tab  of  turf  handy, 
I  'd  hang  it  at  your  mouth,  you  greasy 
cavalryman,  and  learn  you  to  speak  respect- 
ful of  your  betters.  The  Marines  are  the 
handiest  body  o'  men  in  the  service." 

'  The  trumpeter  looked  down  on  him 
from  the  height  of  six  foot  two,  and  asked : 
"  Did  they  die  well  ?  " 

' "  They  died  very  well.  There  was  a 
lot  of  running  to  and  fro  at  first,  and  some 
of  the  men  began  to  cry,  and  a  few  to  strip 
off  their  clothes.  But  when  the  ship  fell  off 
for  the  last  time,  Captain  Mein  turned  and 
said  something  to  Major  Griffiths,  the  com- 
manding officer  on  board,  and  the  Major 
called  out  to  me  to  beat  to  quarters.  It 

might  have  been  for  a  wedding,  he  sang  it 
153 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

out  so  cheerful.  We  'd  had  word  already 
that  't  was  to  be  parade  order ;  and  the  men 
fell  in  as  trim  and  decent  as  if  they  were 
going  to  church.  One  or  two  even  tried  to 
shave  at  the  last  moment.  The  Major  wore 
his  medals.  One  of  the  seamen,  seeing  I 
had  work  to  keep  the  drum  steady  —  the  sling 
being  a  bit  loose  for  me,  and  the  wind  what 
you  remember  —  lashed  it  tight  with  a  piece 
of  rope ;  and  that  saved  my  life  afterwards, 
a  drum  being  as  good  as  a  cork  until  it 's 
stove.  I  kept  beating  away  until  every  man 
was  on  deck;  and  then  the  Major  formed 
them  up  and  told  them  to  die  like  British 
soldiers,  and  the  chaplain  read  a  prayer  or 
two  —  the  boys  standin'  all  the  while  like 
rocks,  each  man's  courage  keeping  up  the 
others'.  The  chaplain  was  in  the  middle  of 
a  prayer  when  she  struck.  In  ten  minutes 
she  was  gone.  That  was  how  they  died, 
cavalryman." 

'  "  And  that  was  very  well  done,  drummer 

of  the  Marines.     What 's  your  name  ?  " 
154 


ROLL-CALL   OF  THE   REEF 

'"John  Christian." 

* "  Mine 's  William  George  Tallifer,  trum- 
peter of  the  yth  Light  Dragoons,  the  Queen's 
Own.  I  played  '  God  save  the  King '  while 
our  men  were  drowning.  Captain  Duncan- 
field  told  me  to  sound  a  call  or  two,  to 
put  them  in  heart;  but  that  matter  of 
'God  save  the  King'  was  a  notion  of  my 
own.  I  won't  say  anything  to  hurt  the 
feelings  of  a  Marine,  even  if  he  's  not  much 
over  five  foot  tall ;  but  the  Queen's  Own 
Hussars  is  a  tearin'  fine  regiment.  As 
between  horse  and  foot,  't  is  a  question  o' 
which  gets  the  chance.  All  the  way  from 
Sahagun  to  Corunna  't  was  we  that  took  and 
gave  the  knocks  —  at  Mayorga  and  Rueda 
and  Bennyventy."  (The  reason,  sir,  I  can 
speak  the  names  so  pat,  is  that  my  father 
learnt  'em  by  heart  afterwards  from  the 
trumpeter,  who  was  always  talking  about 
Mayorga  and  Rueda  and  Bennyventy.) 
"  We  made  the  rear-guard,  under  General 

Paget,   and   drove  the    French  every  time; 
JS5 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

and  all  the  infantry  did  was  to  sit  about  in 
wine-shops  till  we  whipped  'em  out,  an'  steal 
an'  straggle  an'  play  the  tomfool  in  general. 
And  when  it  came  to  a  stand-up  fight  at 
Corunna,  'twas  the  horse,  or  the  best  part 
of  it,  that  had  to  stay  sea-sick  aboard  the 
transports,  an'  watch  the  infantry  in  the  thick 
o'  the  caper.  Very  well  they  behaved,  too ; 
'specially  the  4th  Regiment,  an'  the  42nd 
Highlanders,  an'  the  Dirty  Half-Hundred. 
Oh,  ay;  they're  decent  regiments,  all  three. 
But  the  Queen's  Own  Hussars  is  a  tearin' 
fine  regiment.  So  you  played  on  your  drum 
when  the  ship  was  goin'  down  ?  Drummer 
John  Christian,  I  '11  have  to  get  you  a  new 
pair  o'  drum-sticks  for  that." 

*  Well,  sir,  it  appears  that  the  very  next 
day  the  trumpeter  marched  into  Helston, 
and  got  a  carpenter  there  to  turn  him  a  pair 
of  box-wood  drumsticks  for  the  boy.  And 
this  was  the  beginning  of  one  of  the  most 
curious  friendships  you  ever  heard  tell  of. 

Nothing  delighted  the   pair   more   than   to 
156 


ROLL-CALL   OF   THE    REEF 

borrow  a  boat  off  my  father  and  pull  out  to 
the  rocks  where  the  Primrose  and  the 
Despatch  had  struck  and  sunk;  and  on  still 
days  't  was  pretty  to  hear  them  out  there 
off  the  Manacles,  the  drummer  playing  his 
tattoo  —  for  they  always  took  their  music 
with  them  —  and  the  trumpeter  practising 
calls,  and  making  his  trumpet  speak  like  an 
angel.  But  if  the  weather  turned  roughish, 
they  'd  be  walking  together  and  talking ; 
leastwise,  the  youngster  listened  while  the 
other  discoursed  about  Sir  John's  campaign 
in  Spain  and  Portugal,  telling  how  each 
little  skirmish  befell ;  and  of  Sir  John  him- 
self, and  General  Baird,  and  General  Paget, 
and  Colonel  Vivian,  his  own  commanding 
officer,  and  what  kind  of  men  they  were; 
and  of  the  last  bloody  stand-up  at  Corunna, 
and  so  forth,  as  if  neither  could  have  enough. 
1  But  all  this  had  to  come  to  an  end  in 
the  late  summer,  for  the  boy,  John  Christian, 
being  now  well  and  strong  again,  must  go  up 

to  Plymouth  to  report  himself.     'T  was  his 
157 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 
own  wish  (for  I  believe  King  George  had 

<* 

forgotten  all  about  him),  but  his  friend 
would  n't  hold  him  back.  As  for  the 
trumpeter,  my  father  had  made  an  arrange- 
ment to  take  him  on  as  lodger  as  soon  as  the 
boy  left;  and  on  the  morning  fixed  for  the 
start,  he  was  up  at  the  door  here  by  five 
o'clock,  with  his  trumpet  slung  by  his  side, 
and  all  the  rest  of  his  belongings  in  a  small 
valise.  A  Monday  morning  it  was,  and  after 
breakfast  he  had  fixed  to  walk  with  the  boy 
some  way  on  the  road  towards  Helston, 
where  the  coach  started.  My  father  left 
them  at  breakfast  together,  and  went  out  to 
meat  the  pig,  and  do  a  few  odd  morning  jobs 
of  that  sort.  When  he  came  back,  the  boy 
was  still  at  table,  and  the  trumpeter  standing 
here  by  the  chimney-place  with  the  drum  and 
trumpet  in  his  hands,  hitched  together  just  as 
they  be  at  this  moment. 

1 "  Look   at    this,"    he  says  to   my  father, 
showing  him  the  lock,  "  I  picked  it  up  off  a 

starving  brass-worker  in  Lisbon,  and  it  is  not 
158 


ROLL-CALL   OF   THE   REEF 

one  of  your  common  locks  that  one  word  of 
six  letters  will  open  at  any  time.  There 's 
janius  in  this  lock ;  for  you  Ve  only  to  make 
the  rings  spell  any  six-letter  word  you  please 
and  snap  down  the  lock  upon  that,  and  never 
a  soul  can  open  it  —  not  the  maker,  even  — 
until  somebody  comes  along  that  knows  the 
word  you  snapped  it  on.  Now,  Johnny  here 's 
goin',  and  he  leaves  his  drum  behind  him ; 
for  though  he  can  make  pretty  music  on  it, 
the  parchment  sags  in  wet  weather,  by  reason 
of  the  sea-water  getting  at  it ;  an'  if  he  carries 
it  to  Plymouth,  they  '11  only  condemn  it  and 
give  him  another.  And,  as  for  me,  I  sha'  n't 
have  the  heart  to  put  lip  to  the  trumpet 
any  more  when  Johnny 's  gone.  So  we  Ve 
chosen  a  word  together,  and  locked  'em 
together  upon  that ;  and,  by  your  leave,  I  '11 
hang  'em  here  together  on  the  hook  over 
your  fireplace.  Maybe  Johnny  ?11  come  back ; 
maybe  not.  Maybe,  if  he  comes,  I  '11  be  dead 
an'  gone,  an'  he  '11  take  'em  apart  an'  try  their 

music  for  old  sake's  sake.     But  if  he  never 
159 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

• 

comes,  nobody  can  separate  'em ;  for  nobody 
beside  knows  the  word.  And  if  you  marry 
and  have  sons,  you  can  tell  'em  that  here  are 
tied  together  the  souls  of  Johnny  Christian, 
drummer  of  the  Marines,  and  William  George 
Tallifer,  once  trumpeter  of  the  Queen's  Own 
Hussars.  Amen." 

'  With  that  he  hung  the  two  instruments 
'pon  the  hook  there ;  and  the  boy  stood  up 
and  thanked  my  father  and  shook  hands  ;  and 
the  pair  went  forth  of  the  door,  towards 
Helston. 

'  Somewhere  on  the  road  they  took  leave 
of  one  another ;  but  nobody  saw  the  parting, 
nor  heard  what  was  said  between  them. 
About  three  in  the  afternoon  the  trumpeter 
came  walking  back  over  the  hill ;  and  by  the 
time  my  father  came  home  from  the  fishing 
the  cottage  was  tidied  up,  and  the  tea  ready ^ 
and  the  whole  place  shining  like  a  new  pin. 
From  that  time  for  five  years  he  lodged  here 
with  my  father,  looking  after  the  house  and 

tilling  the  garden.    And  all  the  while  he  was 
160 


ROLL-CALL   OF   THE   REEF 

steadily  failing ;  the  hurt  in  his  head  spread- 
ing, in  a  manner,  to  his  limbs.  My  father 
watched  the  feebleness  growing  on  him,  but 
said  nothing.  And  from  first  to  last  neither 
spake  a  word  about  the  drummer,  John 
Christian  ;  nor  did  any  letter  reach  them,  nor 
word  of  his  doings. 

'  The  rest  of  the  tale  you  'm  free  to  believe 
sir,  or  not,  as  you  please.  It  stands  upon  my 
father's  words,  and  he  always  declared  he  was 
ready  to  "kiss  the  Book  upon  it,  before  judge 
and  jury.  He  said,  too,  that  he  never  had 
the  wit  to  make  up  such  a  yarn  ;  and  he 
defied  anyone  to  explain  about  the  lock,  in 
particular,  by  any  other  tale.  But  you  shall 
judge  for  yourself. 

'  My  father  said  that  about  three  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  April  fourteenth,  of  the  year 
'fourteen,  he  and  William  Tallifer  were  sitting 
here,  just  as  you  and  I,  sir,  are  sitting  now. 
My  father  had  put  on  his  clothes  a  few 
minutes  before,  and  was  mending  his  spiller 

by  the  light  of  the  horn  lantern,  meaning  to 
ii  161 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

set  off  before  daylight  to  haul  the  trammel. 
The  trumpeter  had  n't  been  to  bed  at  all. 
Towards  the  last  he  mostly  spent  his  nights 
(and  his  days,  too)  dozing  in  the  elbow-chair 
where  you  sit  at  this  minute.  He  was  dozing 
then  (my  father  said)  with  his  chin  dropped 
forward  on  his  chest,  when  a  knock  sounded 
upon  the  door,  and  the  door  opened,  and  in 
walked  an  upright  young  man  in  scarlet 
regimentals. 

'  He  had  grown  a  brave  bit,  and  his  face 
was  the  colour  of  wood-ashes  ;  but  it  was  the 
drummer  John  Christian.  Only  his  uniform 
was  different  from  the  one  he  used  to  wear, 
and  the  figures  "  38  "  shone  in  brass  upon  his 
collar. 

'  The  drummer  walked  past  my  father  as 
if  he  never  saw  him,  and  stood  by  the  elbow- 
chair  and  said :  — 

' "  Trumpeter,  trumpeter,  are  you  one 
with  me  ?  " 

'And   the   trumpeter  just   lifted   the  lids 

of  his  eyes,  and  answered,  "  How  should  I 

162 


ROLL-CALL   OF  THE   REEF 

not  be  one  with  you,  drummer  Johnny  — 
Johnny  boy  ?  If  you  come,  I  count :  while 
you  march,  I  mark  time :  until  the  discharge 
comes." 

' "  The  discharge  has  come  to-night,"  said 
the  drummer ;  "  and  the  word  is  Corunna  no 
longer."  And  stepping  to  the  chimney-place, 
he  unhooked  the  drum  and  trumpet,  and 
began  to  twist  the  brass  rings  of  the  lock, 
spelling  the  word  aloud,  so,  —  C-O-R-U-N-A. 
When  he  had  fixed  the  last  letter,  the  pad- 
lock opened  in  his  hand. 

* "  Did  you  know,  trumpeter,  that,  when 
I  came  to  Plymouth,  they  put  me  into  a  line 
regiment  ?  " 

* "  The  38th  is  a  good  regiment,"  answered 
the  old  Hussar,  still  in  his  dull  voice ;  "  I 
went  back  with  them  from  Sahagun  to 
Corunna.  At  Corunna  they  stood  in  Gen- 
eral Fraser's  division,  on  the  right.  They 
behaved  well." 

' "  But  I  'd  fain   see   the   Marinys  again," 

says  the  drummer,  handing  him  the  trumpet; 

163 


TALES   OF  OUR  COAST 

"and  you,  you  shall  call  once  more  for  the 
Queen's  Own.  Matthew,"  he  says,  suddenly, 
turning  on  my  father  —  and  when  he  turned, 
my  father  saw  for  the  first  time  that  his 
scarlet  jacket  had  a  round  hole  by  the 
breast-bone,  and  that  the  blood  was  welling 
there  — "  Matthew,  we  shall  want  your 
boat." 

*  Then  my  father  rose  on  his  legs  like  a 
man  in  a  dream,  while  they  two  slung  on, 
the  one  his  drum,  and  t'  other  his  trumpet. 
He  took  the  lantern  and  went  quaking  before 
them  down  to  the  shore,  and  they  breathed 
heavily  behind  him;  and  they  stepped  into 
his  boat,  and  my  father  pushed  off. 

' "  Row  you  first  for  Dolor  Point,"  says  the 
drummer.  So  my  father  rowed  them  out 
past  the  white  houses  of  Coverack  to  Dolor 
Point,  and  there,  at  a  word,  lay  on  his  oars. 
And  the  trumpeter,  William  Tallifer,  put 
his  trumpet  to  his  mouth  and  sounded  the 
Revelly.  The  music  of  it  was  like  rivers 

running. 

164 


ROLL-CALL   OF   THE   REEF 

'"They  will  follow,"  said  the  drummer. 
"  Matthew,  pull  you  now  for  the  Manacles." 

'  So  my  father  pulled  for  the  Manacles, 
and  came  to  an  easy  close  outside  Carn  du. 
And  the  drummer  took  his  sticks  and  beat 
a  tattoo,  there  by  the  edge  of  the  reef:  and 
the  music  of  it  was  like  a  rolling  chariot. 

* "  That  will  do,"  says  he,  breaking  off ; 
"they  will  follow.  Pull  now  for  the  shore 
under  Gunner's  Meadow." 

'  Then  my  father  pulled  for  the  shore,  and 
ran  his  boat  in  under  Gunner's  Meadow. 
And  they  stepped  out,  all  three,  and  walked 
up  to  the  meadow.  By  the  gate  the  drum- 
mer halted,  and  began  his  tattoo  again,  look- 
ing out  towards  the  darkness  over  the  sea. 

'  And  while  the  drum  beat,  and  my  father 
held  his  breath,  there  came  up  out  of  the 
sea  and  the  darkness  a  troop  of  many  men, 
horse  and  foot,  and  formed  up  among  the 
graves;  and  others  rose  out  of  the  graves 
and  formed  up,  —  drowned  Marines  with 

bleached    faces,    and    pale    Hussars,   riding 
167 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

their  horses,  all  lean  and  shadowy.  There 
was  no  clatter  of  hoofs  or  accoutrements,  my 
father  said,  but  a  soft  sound  all  the  while 
like  the  beating  of  a  bird's  wing ;  and  a 
black  shadow  lying  like  a  pool  about  the 
feet  of  all.  The  drummer  stood  upon  a  little 
knoll  just  inside  the  gate,  and  beside  him  the 
tall  trumpeter,  with  hand  on  hip,  watching 
them  gather ;  and  behind  them  both  my 
father,  clinging  to  the  gate.  When  no  more 
came,  the  drummer  stopped  playing,  and 
said,  "Call  the  roll." 

'  Then  the  trumpeter  stepped  towards  the 
end  man  of  the  rank  and  called,  "  Troop- 
Sergeant- Major  Thomas  Irons !  "  and  the 
man  answered  in  a  thin  voice,  "  Here  I " 

' "  Troop-Sergeant-Major  Thomas  Irons, 
how  is  it  with  you  ?  " 

'  The  man  answered,  "  How  should  it  be 
with  me  ?  When  I  was  young,  I  betrayed 
a  girl ;  and  when  I  was  grown,  I  betrayed  a 
friend,  and  for  these  things  I  must  pay.  But 

I  died  as  a  man  ought.    God  save  the  King  I " 
1 68 


*  The  trumpeter  called  to  the  next  man, 
"  Trooper  Henry  Buckingham  ! "  and  the 
next  man  answered,  "  Here !  " 

4  "  Trooper  Henry  Buckingham,  how  is  it 
with  you  ?  " 

1  "  How  should  it  be  with  me  ?  I  was  a 
drunkard,  and  I  stole,  and  in  Lugo,  in  a 
wine-shop,  I  killed  a  man.  But  I  died  as 
a  man  should.  God  save  the  King !  " 

'  So  the  trumpeter  went  down  the  line ; 
and  when  he  had  finished,  the  drummer  took 
it  up,  hailing  the  dead  Marines  in  their  order. 
Each  man  answered  to  his  name,  and  each 
man  ended  with  "  God  save  the  King ! " 
When  all  were  hailed,  the  drummer  stepped 
back  to  his  mound,  and  called,  — 

* "  It  is  well.  You  are  content,  and  we 
are  content  to  join  you.  Wait,  now,  a  little 
while." 

'  With  this  he  turned  and  ordered  my 
father  to  pick  up  the  lantern,  and  lead  the 
way  back.  As  my  father  picked  it  up,  he 

heard  the  ranks  of  dead  men  cheer  and  call, 
171 


TALES  OF   OUR  COAST  * 

"  God  save  the  King !  "  all  together,  and  saw 
them  waver  and  fade  back  into  the  dark,  like 
a  breath  fading  off  a  pane. 

'  But  when  they  came  back  here  to  the 
kitchen,  and  my  father  set  the  lantern  down, 
it  seemed  they  'd  both  forgot  about  him. 
For  the  drummer  turned  in  the  lantern  light 
—  and  my  father  could  see  the  blood  still 
welling  out  of  the  hole  in  his  breast  —  and 
took  the  trumpet-sling  from  around  the 
other's  neck,  and  locked  drum  and  trumpet 
together  again,  choosing  the  letters  on  the 
lock  very  carefully.  While  he  did  this  he 
said :  — 

4 "  The  word  is  no  more  Corunna,  but 
Bayonne.  As  you  left  out  an  *  n  '  in  Corunna, 
so  must  I  leave  out  an  '  n '  in  Bayonne." 
And  before  snapping  the  padlock,  he  spelt 
out  the  word  slowly  —  "  B- A- Y-O-N-E." 
After  that,  he  used  no  more  speech,  but 
turned  and  hung  the  two  instruments  back 
on  the  hook ;  and  then  took  the  trumpeter 

by  the  arm ;  and  the  pair  walked  out  into 
172 


ROLL-CALL   OF  THE   REEF 

* 

the  darkness,  glancing  neither  to  right  nor 
left. 

*  My  father  was  on  the  point  of  following, 
when  he  heard  a  sort  of  sigh  behind  him  ; 
and  there,  sitting  in  the  elbow-chair,  was  the 
very  trumpeter  he  had  just  seen  walk  out  by 
the  door  !  If  my  father's  heart  jumped  before, 
you  may  believe  it  jumped  quicker  now. 
But,  after  a  bit,  he  went  up  to  the  man  asleep 
in  the  chair  and  put  a  hand  upon  him.  It  was 
the  trumpeter  in  flesh  and  blood  that  he 
touched ;  but  though  the  flesh  was  warm, 
the  trumpeter  was  dead. 

'  Well,  sir,  they  buried  him  three  days 
after ;  and  at  first  my  father  was  minded  to 
say  nothing  about  his  dream  (as  he  thought 
it).  But  the  day  after  the  funeral,  he  met 
Parson  Kendall  coming  from  Helston  market; 
and  the  parson  called  out:  "  Have  'ee  heard 
the  news  the  coach  brought  down  this 
mornin1  ?  "  "  What  news  ?  "  says  my  father. 

"  Why,  that  peace  is  agreed  upon."     "  None 
173 


TALES   OF   OUK  COAST 

too  soon,"  says  my  father.  "  Not  soon 
enough  for  our  poor  lads  at  Bayonne,"  the 
parson  answered.  "  Bayonne ! "  cries  my 
father,  with  a  jump.  "  Why,  yes ;  "  and  the 
parson  told  him  all  about  a  great  sally  the 
French  had  made  on  the  night  of  April  1 3th. 
"  Do  you  happen  to  know  if  the  38th  Regi- 
ment was  engaged  ? "  my  father  asked. 
"  Come,  now,"  said  Parson  Kendall,  "  I 
did  n't  know  you  was  so  well  up  in  the  cam- 
paign. But  as  it  happens,  I  do  know  that 
the  38th  was  engaged,  for  't  was  they  that 
held  a  cottage  and  stopped  the  French 
advance." 

*  Still  my  father  held  his  tongue ;  and 
when,  a  week  later,  he  walked  into  Helston 
and  bought  a  "  Mercury  "  off  the  Sherborne 
rider,  and  got  the  landlord  of  the  "  Angel " 
to  spell  out  the  list  of  killed  and  wounded, 
sure  enough,  there  among  the  killed  was 
Drummer  John  Christian,  of  the  38th  Foot. 

'  After  this,  there  was  nothing  for  a 
religious  man  but  to  make  a  clean  breast. 


ROLL-CALL  OF  THE  REEF 

So  my  father  went  up  to  Parson  Kendall, 
and  told  the  whole  story.  The  parson 
listened,  and  put  a  question  or  two,  and  then 
asked,  — 

' "  Have  you  tried  to  open  the  lock  since 
that  night?" 

1 "  I  han't  dared  to  touch  it,"  says  my 
father. 

' "  Then  come  along  and  try."  When  the 
parson  came  to  the  cottage  here,  he  took 
the  things  off  the  hook  and  tried  the  lock. 
"  Did  he  say  '  Bayonne '  /  The  word  has 
seven  letters." 

1 "  Not  if  you  spell  it  with  one  '  n  \  as  he 
did,"  says  my  father. 

*  The  parson  spelt  it  out  —  B-A-Y-O-N-E. 
"  Whew ! "  says  he,  for  the  lock  had  fallen 
open  in  his  hand. 

*  He  stood  considering  it  a  moment,  and 
then  he  says,  "  I  tell  you  what.     I  should  n't 
blab  this  all  round  the  parish,  if  I  was  you. 
You  won't  get  no  credit  for  truth-telling,  and 

a  miracle 's  wasted  on  a  set  of  fools.     But  if 

175 


TALES   OF  OUR  COAST 

you  like,  I  '11  shut  down  the  lock  again  upon 
a  holy  word  that  no  one  but  me  shall  know, 
and  neither  drummer  nor  trumpeter,  dead  nor 
alive,  shall  frighten  the  secret  out  of  me." 

' "  I  wish  to  gracious  you  would,  parson','* 
said  my  father. 

'  The  parson  chose  the  holy  word  there 
and  then,  and  shut  the  lock  back  upon  it, 
and  hung  the  drum  and  trumpet  back  in 
their  place.  He  is  gone  long  since,  taking 
the  word  with  him.  And  till  the  lock  is 
broken  by  force,  nobody  will  ever  separate 
those  twain.' 


176 


'THAT  THERE  MASON' 

BY 

W.  CLARK  RUSSELL 


12 


'THAT   THERE   MASON' 

I  WAS  in  Ramsgate,  in  the  pier-yard,  and 
noticed  the  figure  of  a  boatman  leaning 
against  the  wall  of  a  building  used  by  the 
Trinity  people.  I  stepped  close,  and  looked 
at  him.  He  was  a  little  man,  curved;  his 
hands  were  buried  to  the  knuckles'  end  in 
his  breeches  pockets;  he  wore  a  yellow 
sou'wester,  and  under  it  was  a  sour,  sneering, 
wicked  face.  His  eyes  were  damp  and  sunk, 
and  seemed  to  discharge  a  thin  liquor  like 
pale  ale,  and  he  would  not  pull  out  his  hands 
to  wipe  them. 

1  What 's  your  name  ? '  said  I. 

He  looked  at  me  slowly,  beginning  at  my 
waistcoat,  and  answered :  '  What 's  that  got 
to  do  with  you  ? ' 

'  Do  you  want  a  job  ?  ' 
179 


TALES   OF   OUR  COAST 

4  What  sorter  job  ? '  he  replied,  continuing 
to  lean  against  the  wall,  without  any  motion 
of  his  body,  merely  looking  at  me. 

'  The  job  of  answering  a  civil  question  with 
a  civil  answer,'  said  I. 

He  turned  his  head,  and  gazed  at  the  sea 
without  replying. 

'  What 's  that  obelisk  ? '  said  I. 

His  head  came  back  to  its  bearings,  and 
he  answered :  '  What 's  what  ? ' 

'That  thing  in  granite,  yonder;  that  tall 
stone  spike.  What  is  it?5 

'  Can  yer  read  ? ' 

4  Better  than  you,  I  expect,'  I  answered. 

'  Then  why  don't  you  go  and  find  out  for 
yourself  ? '  said  he,  uttering  a  small,  hideous 
laugh. 

1 1  rather  fancy,'  said  I,  '  that  that  spike 
was  erected  to  commemorate  the  landing  of 
George  IV.  He  was  kind  enough  to  con- 
descend to  land  at  Ramsgate.  Was  n't  that 
good  of  him,  Tommy?  Blown  here,  maybe, 

vomiting,   to   the    pier-head,   and    rejoicing, 
i  So 


'THAT  THERE   MASON' 

under  his  waistcoats,  to  get  ashore  anywhere 
and  anyhow.  And  the  snobs  of  Ramsgate 
go  to  the  expense  of  erecting  that  unwhole- 
some and  shocking  memorial  of  so  abject  a 
trifle  as  the  landing  of  a  fat  immoral  man  at 
this  port  on  his  way  to  London.  Why  don't 
you,  and  the  like  of  you,  level  it,  —  knock  the 
blamed  thing  into  blocks  of  stone,  and  build 
a  house  with  them  for  a  good  man  to  live 
in?' 

His  eyes  had  come  to  the  surface;  they 
were  running  harder  than  ever.  He  was  in 
a  rage. 

'  Look  here/  said  he ;  *  I  don't  know 
who  y'are,  but  don't  yer  like  that  there 
pillar?* 

1  No,'  I  answered. 

*  Then  why  don't  yer  go  home  ?  There 's 
nothen'  to  keep  yer  'ere,  I  'ope?  Plenty 
of  trains  to  all  parts,  and  I  '11  carry  yer 
bag  for  nothen',  allowin'  you  've  got  one, 
only  for  the  satisfaction  of  seein'  the  last 
of  yer.' 

181 


TALES  OF   OUR  COAST 

I  told  him  I  would  remember  that,  and, 
bursting  into  uncontrollable  laughter  at  his 
peculiarly  ugly,  wicked  face,  I  walked  off, 
scarce  knowing  but  that  I  should  feel  the 
blow  of  '  'arf  a  brick '  in  the  back  of  my  head 
as  I  went. 

I  met  a  boatman  with  whom  I  had  gone 
fishing  on  some  occasions. 

*  Thomas,'  said  I,  pointing  to  the  leaning 
figure,  'who  is  that  queer  little  chap?' 

'  Jimmie  Mason/  replied  Thomas,  with  a 
half-glance  at  the  wall-scab,  then  turning  his 
back  upon  it. 

'  Has  he  ever  been  hung  ? '  said  I. 

'  Don't  think  he  could  have  been  quite 
old  enough  for  it,'  he  replied,  turning  again 
to  look  at  the  little  man.  '  They  cut  a  man 
down  from  the  gibbet  on  the  sand  hills 
yonder,'  said  he,  pointing  in  the  direction  of 
Deal,  '  when  my  father  was  a  boy,  and  he 
used  to  say  that,  when  the  man  got  sprung, 
he  'd  relate,  in  beautiful  language,  how  he  felt 

when  he  was  turned  off.' 
182 


'THAT  THERE   MASON' 

1  A  dose  of  turning-off  would  do  that  gent 
in  the  sou'wester  a  great  deal  of  good,'  said 
I.  *  He 's  a  sort  of  man,  you  know,  to 
murder  you  when  you  're  out  fishing  with 
him.  He 's  a  sort  of  man  to  stab  you  in  the 
back  with  a  great  clasp  knife,  and  drag  your 
body  into  the  empty  house,  which  never  lets 
ever  after.' 

*  Old  Jim  Mason  's  just  the  worst-tempered 
man  on  the  coast.  His  heart  was  turned 
black  by  a  disappointment,'  said  Thomas. 

'  Love  ?  *  said  I. 

4  Why,  not  exactly  love,'  he  replied ;  '  it 
was  more  in  the  hovelling  line.' 

1  Is  it  a  good  yarn  ? '  I  asked.  '  If  so,  I  '11 
stand  two  drinks  ;  a  pint  for  you  and  a  half- 
pint  for  me.' 

1  It  might  be  worth  recording,'  said 
Thomas,  taking  the  time  occupied  by  the 
harbour  clock  in  striking  twelve  to  reflect. 
'  Anyways,  pint  or  no  pint,  here  it  is,'  and, 
folding  his  arms,  this  intelligent  '  longshore- 
man '  started  thus  :  — 
185 


TALES   OF  OUR  COAST 

'  Some  years  ago,  a  gemman  and  a  lady 
went  out  for  a  sail,  and,  as  is  not  always 
customary  in  these  'ere  parts,  —  though  we  Ve 
got  some  thick  heads  among  us,  I  can  tell 
you,  —  they  were  capsized.  The  gemman  was 
drowned,  the  lady  and  the  boatman  saved, 
and  the  boat  was  picked  up  and  towed  in,  — 
there  she  lies,  "  The  'Arbour  Bud." 

*  The  widder,  as  was  natural,  was  in 
dreadful  grief;  and,  in  a  day  or  two,  police 
bills  was  pasted  about  the  walls,  offering  a 
reward  of  5O/.  to  any  one  who  should  recover 
the  body.  That  there  Mason,  as  you  see 
a-leaning  agin  that  house,  was  just  the  party 
for  a  job  of  this  sort.  He  called  'em  soft 
jobs.  He  was  one  of  them  men  as  would 
walk  about  the  rocks  and  sands  arter  a  breeze 
of  wind,  hunting  for  whatever  he  might  find, 
—  be  it  a  corpse  that  had  come  ashore  to 
keep  him  in  good  spirits,  or  the  'arf  of  a  shoe. 
Him  and  Sam  Bowler  was  a-huntin'  arter 
jewellery  down  among  the  rocks  one  day, 

and  that  there  Mason  picked  up  a  gold  ring. 

1 86 


'THAT  THERE   MASON' 

He  offered  it  to  Bowler,  who  gave  him  five 
shullens  for  it,  and  that  night,  at  the  sign  of 
the  "  Welcome  'Arp,"  that  there  Mason 
swallowed  some  of  his  front  teeth,  and  got 
both  eyes  plugged,  for  Bowler,  who  weighs 
fourteen  stun,  had  discovered  that  the  ring 
was  brass. 

4  Well,  that  there  Mason  takes  it  into  his 
head  to  go  for  a  walk  one  day  arter  the  bills 
about  the  body  had  been  pasted  on  the  walls. 
He  walked  in  the  direction  of  Broadstairs, 
and,  comin'  to  the  coastguard  station,  he  falls 
in  with  one  of  the  men,  a  sort  of  relation  of 
his.  They  got  yarning.  The  coastguard 
had  a  big  telescope  under  his  arm.  That 
there  Mason  asked  leave  to  have  a  look,  and 
he  levels  the  glass  and  begins  to  work  about 
with  it.  The  line  of  the  Good'in  Sands  was 
as  plain  as  the  nose  on  his  face.  It  was  low 
water,  the  whole  stretch  of  the  shoal  was 
visible,  and  it  was  a  clear  bright  afternoon. 

' "  What  's    taken    yer   heye  ?  "    says   the 

coastguard  presently. 

189 


TALES   OF  OUR  COAST 

' "  Nothen,  oh,  nothen,"  answered  that 
there  Mason.  "  Sands  show  oncommon 
plain  to-day." 

*  He  handed  back  the  glass  to  the  coast- 
guard, and  then,  instead  of   continuing  his 
walk,  he  returned  to  this  here  yard,  and  got 
into  his  boat  and  pulled  away  out  of  the 
harbour. 

1  Now  what  do  yer  think  he  had  seen  in 
that  telescope  ?  A  dead  man  stranded  on 
the  Good'in  Sands.  There  could  be  no 
mistake.  That  there  Mason  belonged  to 
the  cocksure  lot ;  he  never  made  a  blunder 
in  all  his  life.  It  mightn't  be  the  body  as 
was  advertised  for,  but,  if  it  was,  't  was  a 
fifty-pound  job;  and  that  there  Mason, 
without  a  word,  pulled  out  o'  'arbour  feelin\ 
I  daresay,  as  if  he  'd  got  the  gold  in  his 
pocket,  and  the  heavens  was  beginnin'  to 
smile  upon  him. 

*  'T  is  a  long  pull  to  the  Good'ins,  tide  or 
no  tide.     None  took  any  notice  of  his  goin' 

out.      There    was   some   boats   a-fishin'   in 

190 


'THAT  THERE  MASON' 

Pegwell  Bay,  and  if  any  man  looked  at  that 
there  Mason  a-rowing  out  to  sea,  he  'd  expect 
to  see  him  bring  up  and  drop  a  line  over 
the  side.  He  rowed  and  rowed.  The  body 
lay  upon  the  edge  of  the  Sand,  a  long 
distance  away  from  the  Gull  lightship.  He 
rowed  and  rowed.  By-and-bye,  standin'  up, 
he  pulls  out  a  bit  of  a  pocket-glass,  and  then 
discovers  that  what  he  'd  taken  to  be  a  man's 
dead  body  was  nothen  but  a  small  balk  of 
timber,  black  with  black  seaweed,  stretched 
out  on  either  side,  so  that  at  a  distance  it 
looked  exactly  like  a  corpse  on  its  back  with 
its  arms  out. 

'  That  there  Mason  might  ha'  burst  him- 
self  with  passion  if  he  had  n't  been  too  dead 
beat  with  rowing.  Even  in  them  times 
he  was  n't  no  chicken.  Well,  thinks  he  to 
himself,  since  I  Ve  had  all  this  here  labour 
merely  to  view  a  balk  of  timber,  I  may  as 
well  step  ashore  for  a  spell  of  rest,  and  take 
a  short  cruise  round,  for  who  knows  what  I 

might  find  ?     So  what  does  the  joker  do  but 
191 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

head  his  boat  right  in  for  the  sand,  and  then 
he  jumps  ashore.  He  made  his  boat  fast 
to  the  balk  of  timber.  It  was  arter  five,  and 
the  sun  westerin'  fast.  He  drives  his  'ands 
deep  into  his  pockets,  and  slowly  meanders, 
always  a-looking.  What  was  there  to  find  ? 
He  could  n't  tell.  There  was  expectation, 
yer  see,  and  that  was  a  sort  of  joy  to  the 
'eart  of  that  there  Mason.  Y'u  'd  hardly 
think  it  of  a  boatman,  but  it's  true:  whilst 
that  bally  idiot  was  a-wandering  about  them 
sands  searching  for  whatever  there  might  be, 
his  boat,  giving  a  tug  at  her  painter,  frees 
the  rope  and  drifts  away  on  the  tide,  with 
that  there  man  as  you  are  now  a-looking  at 
walking  about  the  sands,  his  'ands  buried 
deep  and  his  eyes  fixed,  dreaming  of  light- 
ing upon  a  sovereign  or  a  gold  chain,  —  you 
can  never  tell  what  passes  in  such  an  *ead. 
By'm-bye  he  turns  to  look  for  his  boat,  and 
lo  and  be'old  she 's  gone.  There  she  was 
half  a  mile  off,  quietly  floating  away  to  the 

norr'ard.      The  sun  was  beginning  to  sink 
192 


'THAT  THERE   MASON' 

low;  the  night  was  coming  along.  The 
people  aboard  the  Gull  lightship  did  n't  see 
him  or  take  any  notice ;  what  was  that  there 
Mason  going  to  do  ?  There  was  no  wreck 
to  shelter  him.  It  might  be  that  at  Rams- 
gate  they  'd  see  a  lonely  man  a-walking 
about,  and  send  a  boat ;  but,  as  I  Ve  said, 
dusk  was  at  'and,  and  he  knew  bloomin* 
well  that  if  they  didn't  see  him  soon  they'd 
never  see  him  again. 

'  He  'd  taken  notice  afore  the  darkness 
had  drawn  down  of  a  cutter  bearing  about 
northeast.  He  watched  her  now  whilst  it 
was  light,  for  it  looked  to  him  as  if  she  was 
making  a  straight  course  for  the  sands.  It 
was  plain  she  was  n't  under  no  government. 
The  wind  blew  her  along,  and  at  eight 
o'clock  that  evening,  when  the  moon  was 
rising  and  the  tide  making  fast  all  about  the 
sands,  I  'm  blest  if  that  cutter  did  n't  come 
quietly  ashore,  and  lie  as  sweetly  still  as  if 
she  was  a  young  woman  wore  out  with 

walkin'. 

'3  193 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

'I  allow  that  it  didn't  take  that  there 
Mason  a  lifetime  to  scramble  aboard  of  her. 
She  was  a  fine  boat,  'bout  sixteen  or  eigh- 
teen ton,  newly  sheathed,  and  her  sails  shone 
white  and  new  in  the  moon.  When  he  got 
aboard  he  sung  out,  "  Anybody  here  ? "  and 
he  received  no  reply.  There  was  a  bit  of  a 
forehatch;  he  put  his  'ead  into  it  and  sung 
out,  and  several  times  he  sung  out,  and  got 
no  answer;  he  then  walked  aft.  I  must  tell 
you,  it  was  a  very  quiet  night,  with  a  light 
breeze  and  plenty  of  stars,  and  a  growing 
moon.  He  looks  through  the  bit  of  a  sky- 
light, and  sees  nothen ;  puts  his  head  in  the 
companion-way  and  sings  out  as  afore.  An 
abandoned  wessel,  he  thinks  to  himself,  and 
his  'eart,  you  may  be  sure,  turns  to  and 
rejoices. 

'  What  should  he  do  ?  Try  to  kedge  her 
off  himself  ?  That  was  beyond  him.  Send 
up  a  rocket,  if  he  should  find  such  a  thing 
in  the  vessel  ?  S'elp  me,  he  was  that  greedy 

he  could  n't  make  up  his  mind  to  ask  for  'elp. 
194 


<THAT  THERE   MASON' 

He  took  a  look  round  the  sea  and  considered. 
There  was  some  big  lump  of  shadow  out 
behind  the  sands, — she  looked  like  a  French 
smack ;  his  boat  was  out  of  sight  in  the 
dark,  but  the  cutter,  he  noticed,  carried  a 
little  jolly  boat,  amidships,  right  fair  in  the 
wake  of  the  gangway,  easy  to  be  launched, 
smack  fashion,  so  that  there  Mason  felt  his 
life  was  saved. 

'  He  carried  some  lucifers  in  his  pocket 
for  lighting  his  pipe ;  he  stepped  into  the 
cabin,  and  struck  a  light.  A  lamp  was  hung 
up  close  against  his  'and ;  it  was  ready 
trimmed,  and  he  set  the  wick  afire,  and 
looked  round.  What  did  he  see  ?  As  beau- 
tiful a  little  cabin  as  the  hinvention  of  man 
could  figure.  The  sides  of  the  wessel  had 
been  picked  out  by  artists,  and  that  there 
Mason  swears  no  man  ever  saw  finer  pictures 
in  his  life,  —  ladies  a-bathin',  gentlemen 
chasin'  with  hounds,  a  steamer  going  along; 
both  sides  had  been  picked  out  into  pictures, 

and  that  there    Mason   looked  around  him 
195 


TALES   OF   OUR  COAST 

with  his  mouth  opening  and  opening.  There 
was  likewise  lookin'  glasses ;  a  thick  carpet ; 
the  lamps  seemed  to  be  made  of  silver,  and 
there  was  such  a  twinkling  of  silver  all  about, 
what  with  the  'andles  of  doors  and  a  lot  of 
forks  and  spoons  on  the  table,  that  Mason's 
eyes  began  to  dance  in  his  evil  old  nut,  and 
he  reckoned  himself  a  made  man  for  life. 
Look  at  him  as  he  leans  there. 

'  But  what  else  did  he  see  ?  The  door  of 
a  cabin  right  aft  stood  open,  and  half-way  in 
and  half-way  out  lay  the  body  of  a  man  ;  his 
throat  was  most  horribly  cut ;  not  by  's  own 
'and.  No  man  could  nearly  cut  his  own  'ead 
half  off  as  that  chap's  was.  He  'd  been  mur- 
dered, and  there  was  no  man  in  that  beauti- 
ful little  cutter  saving  that  bleedin'  corpse.  It 
was  a  sight  to  have  thickened  the  wind-pipe 
of  most  men,  and  set  them  a-breathin'  hard 
and  tight;  but  he  saw  nothing  but  a  man 
with  his  throat  cut.  He  took  a  look  at  him, 
and  reckoned  him  to  be  a  furriner,  as,  indeed, 

the  whole  little  ship  seemed.     It  was  a  very 

196 


'THAT  THERE   MASON' 

quiet  night,  and  he  stood  looking  at  the  dead 
body  considering  what  he  should  do.  If  he 
brought  assistance  from  the  shore,  and  the 
cutter  was  towed  into  port,  his  share  of  the 
salvage  money,  —  for  the  rewards  are  small 
in  jobs  of  this  sort  when  the  weather  is  fine 
and  there  is  no  risk  of  life,  —  his  share,  I 
says,  of  the  money  would  be  scarcely  worth 
talking  about.  Same  time,  if  he  left  the 
cutter  to  lie,  and  it  came  on  to  blow,  she  'd 
go  to  pieces  afore  the  morning.  That  was  n't 
his  consarn,  he  thought ;  he  had  come  to  the 
Good'ins  on  the  look-out  for  a  job,  and  had 
got  one,  and  he  made  up  his  mind  to  make 
the  most  of  his  chances. 

*  So  the  first  thing  that  there  Mason  did 
was  to  stoop  down  and  plunder  the  body. 
Plenty  was  on  it.  I  can  see  in  fancy  the 
looks  of  his  face  as  he  'elped  himself;  he 
found  a  beautiful  gold  watch  and  chain,  a 
diamond  ring,  and  another  ring,  a  lot  of  gold 
coins  in  French  money  in  one  pocket,  and 

French  money  in  silver  coin  in  another.     He 
197 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

found  a  silver  toothpick,  an  eye-glass,  and  I 
can't  tell  you  what  besides.  He  was  in 
high  feather,  a  very  'appy  man ;  he  fills  his 
pockets  with  the  forks  and  spoon's,  supposing 
them  silver,  tho'  they  was  n't.  He  looked 
into  the  cabin  where  the  dead  body  lay, 
but  found  nothen  but  bed-clothes  and  male 
wearin'  apparel  hangin'  to  the  bulkhead. 
There  was  a  chest  of  drawers  full  of  good 
linen  shirts  and  vests  and  the  like  of  that. 
But  that  there  Mason  thought  of  Cocky  Hon- 
our, the  Customs  man,  and  abandoned  the 
idea  of  makin'  up  them  shirts  into  a  parcel. 

'  It  was  his  notion  to  get  away  in  the 
cutter's  jolly  boat  or  dinghey,  and  he  stood 
looking  about  him  to  see  if  there  was  any- 
thing else  he  could  put  in  his  pockets.  All 
at  once  he  heard  a  noise  of  men's  voices 
alongside,  and,  immediately  arter,  the  'eavy 
tread  of  fishermen's  boots  over'ead.  Afore 
he  could  get  on  deck,  a  big  chap,  with  a  red 
night-cap  on,  came  down  the  little  companion- 
ladder,  and  instantly  roars  out  something  in 
198 


'THAT  THERE   MASON' 

French.  Down  comes  others,  —  three  or  four. 
'T  was  a  minute  or  two  afore  they  took  notice 
of  the  dead  body,  all  along  of  starin'  round 
'em,  and  at  that  there  Mason,  who  stared  back. 
They  then  set  up  a  howl,  and  fell  a-brandish- 
ing  their  arms,  as  if  they  were  gone  stark  mad. 

*  "  You  killee  him ! '  roars  one. 

* "  No,  no,"  sings  out  Mason,  "  me  no 
killee,  me  find  him  killee." 

' "  You  killee  him,"  roars  the  great  man 
with  the  cap,  lookin'  most  ferocious,  for  that 
here  Mason  says  his  face  was  nearly  all  hair, 
besides  that  he  squinted  most  damnably, 
beggin'  of  your  pardon.  And  then  he  began 
to  shout  to  the  others,  who  shouted  back  at 
him,  all  talkin'  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  as  is 
the  custom  in  France  when  excited,  and  all 
lookin'  at  that  there  Mason. 

'  Suddenly  they  all  rushed  at  him,  knocked 
him  down,  overhauled  his  pockets,  and 
brought  out  the  spoons  and  forks  and  the 
dead  gent's  gold  watch  and  chain,  and  the 
rest  of  the  plunder. 

2OI 


TALES   OF   OUR   COAST 

5 "  You  killee  1 "  roared  the  big  man  in 
the  cap,  and  layin'  hold  of  him,  they  ran  him 
into  the  cabin  where  the  corpse  was,  and 
locked  him  up  with  the  body,  and  presently 
that  there  Mason,  who  was  next  door  to 
ravin'  mad,  felt  that  they  was  warping  the 
cutter  off,  —  that,  in  short,  she  was  off,  and, 
by  the  noise  of  passin'  waters,  either  sailing 
or  in  tow. 

'  And  now  to  end  this,  sir,  what  do  you 
think  happened  to  that  there  Mason  ?  She 
was  a  French  smack  that  had  sighted  and 
boarded  the  cutter ;  that  was  a  Frenchman 
likewise,  and  they  towed  her  straight  to 
Boulogne,  at  which  place  they  arrived  at 
about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Numbers 
was  on  the  pier  to  see  the  uncommon  sight 
of  a  smack  towing  an  abandoned  cutter. 
That  there  Mason  was  handed  over  to  the 
authorities,  charged  with  murder  and  robbery. 
The  British  Consul  took  up  the  case.  When 
the  facts  were  stated,  and  inquiries  made,  his 

innocence   was    established;    but  not  afore 
202 


'THAT  THERE   MASON' 

he  'd  lain  three  weeks  in  a  beastly  jail,  fed  on 
black  bread,  and  denied  his  pipe.  I  don't 
say  he  came  home  much  changed;  but  I 
allow  the  disappointment  sunk  as  deep  as 
his  heart,  and  blacked  it.  And  to  this  hour 
he 's  not  fit  company  for  man  nor  beast. 
Look  at  him  as  he  leans ! ' 

Laughing  together,  we  strolled  off  for  our 
drinks,  and  I  saw  Mason  turn  his  head  to 
watch  us  as  we  walked. 


THE  END. 


203 


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